TRADITIONS ABOUT ALDEKSHOT : 

THE CHARCOAL-BURNER ; A TRADITION OF CJESAR's HILL. 

" JUMBLE-DOWN DICK ; " A TRADITION OF FARNBOROUGH. 

THE MILLER OF COVE ; A TRADITION OF GOVE COMMON, 

THE "CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY; A TRADITION OF OLD ALDERSHOT. 

"the ladye-house ; " A TRADITION of upper hale. 

" GENTLEMAN JOHN ; " A TRADITION OF MODERN ALDERSHOT. 
LILY LADE ; A TRADITION OF MOTHER LUDLAM's GAVE. 

POEMS : 

THE LAY OF THE LOST ENSIGN. 

THE " CARTE-DE-VISITE." 

THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL. 

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE VISIT OF A RUSSIAN POTENTATE 

TO ALDERSHOT CAMP. 
LINES ON THE DEATH OF JANE CiESAR. 
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CATHERINE ANN WHITE. 
THE LADIES. 
THE MISER — A SATIRE. 

BY 

CHARLES STANLEY HEEVE. 

(de la Mo. ini&re). 
± 

^ dj— Ficta voluptatis c ximaveris. 

(T ui z2 Horace. Art. Poet, 338. 

7p \- O (j) 

CD "- .^ 5 Nulla venenato Littera mista joco est. 

Ij al'D Frag. Vet. Poet. 



3 



FARNHAM & ALDERSHOT : 
ARTHUR E. LUCY, SURREY AND HANTS NEWS OFFICE 






%£&?$ry of 5upr»ms :ou 
Aug 10,1940 



jgii A.A.a*i» 



"3 a 7 



TO 



HIS TWO GOOD AND VALUED FRIENDS, 

JOHN PICKERSGILL, Esq. 
{Of Sheffield), 



J. E. BOSANQUET, Esq. 
{Of Cork), 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 



f? 



CONTENTS. 



TRADITIONS. 

THE CHARCOAL BURNER : A LEGEND OF CESAR'S HILL 

" TUMBLE-DOWN DICK " 

THE MILLER OF COVE 

THE " CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY . . 

ST HILDA — A LEGEND OF "THE LADYE-HOUSE " . 
" GENTLEMAN JOHN " : A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP 
LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAYE 



Page 
1 

27 

50 

79 

108 

128 

l. r )0 



POEMS. 

THE LAY OF THE LOST ENSIGN , . . . . 197 

THE " CARTE-DE-VISITE : " A ROMANCE OF ALDERSHOT . 202 

THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL 207 

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE VISIT OF A RUSSIAN 



POTENTATE TO ALDERSHOT CAMP 
LINES ON THE DEATH OF JANE CESAR 



MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CATHERINE ANN WHITE . 219 



THE LADIES . 

THE MISER — A SATIRE 



214 
217 



221 
222 



PREFACE. 



A certain gentleman of literary tastes and good 
standing in society,, once took on bim to write, and, 

what is more, to publish "The Traditions of L 

shire. " He was a gentleman whose unassuming talent 
and amiable disposition had rendered him so great a 
favourite with all classes, that if his persou had been 
cut into one thousand portions, he could not have 
accepted one tithe of' the invitations which fell to his 
lot, 

This was before the publication of his "Traditions," 
and it so happened that whilst his book was being 
published he, himself, was necessitated to leave home 
for two or three weeks. On his return, instead of 
finding his card-basket, and table, heaped with polite 
pasteboard and kind invitations, he found nothing but 
letters of abuse, and three challenges to mortal combat ! 



VI PREFACE. 

The reason of all this was, that in raking up infor- 
mation for his work, and in making use of that informa- 
tion without any disguise, he had " shown up" the flaws 
and blotches which presented themselves on so many 
family shields, that indignation, rather than admiration, 
was the result. 

With this example before me, I determined, whilst 
inditing the following " traditions," or " legends, " that in 
all matters touching the names and reputations of indi- 
viduals whose descendants may yet exist in the locality 
connected with their deeds, I would not only assume 
fictitious names, but also amalgamate facts and fictions 
so ingeniously that no one particular event could be 
fixed on any one particular person. Again, in several 
instances where two or three traditions clung to the 
same spot, or where conflicting rumours served to 
throw historical doubt upon any one incident, I would 
take the liberty of choosing for myself the particular 
one best suited for recital, giving especial heed, in all 
cases, to publish such curious incidents as are not gene- 
rally known, rather than to re-publish such current 
stories as were in common vogue. 

Thus it will be seen that my story of " Tumble-down- 



PREFACE. Vll 

Dick " is not the popular tradition ; that my stories of 
" Lily Lade/' and " The Clock-house Mystery " are not 
elsewhere recorded, although founded on fact, and that 
my version of " The Miller of Cove " may not exactly 
tally with that which Tom Noakes and John Styles, 
may recount to travellers who stop to tipple in a road- 
side inn. It must suffice to be told that the following 
"traditions," or "legends/' are not given forth as 
"histories/'' but merely as vehicles of amusement, 
founded upon certain current reports, and dove-tailed 
together so as to appear of homogeneous workmanship. 

With regard to the few brief poems which are appended 
to this little work, two or three only have any bearing 
upon Aldershot or its neighbourhood, but as they have 
been written in, and are dated from, this particular 
spot, it has been thought as well to publish them in 
conjunction with the other portion of this volume, as a 
sort of roake-w r eight, or public offering, for which as- 
sumption, and for all deficiencies, I beg to crave the 
leniency of all indulgent readers. 

CHAELES S. HEBVE. 

(de la Mo rin icre ) 

Flagstaff Villa, Bank Street Road, Aldershot, 
March 16$, 1865. 



TRADITIONS ABOUT ALDEESHOT. 



THE CHARCOAL BURNER : A LEGEND OE 
CJESAR'S HILL. 

" There be dreams of the future and of the past, there he 
dreams which are prophecies, and dreams which are retro- 
spect ; the first are begat of quick brain, the second of a slow 
liver." — Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy." 

About two miles north by west of the ancient and 
romantic borough of Earnham, in Surrey, or rather 
more than half way between that place and the now 
famous camp of Aldershot, there is a bold rugged accli- 
vity, to which tradition has awarded the name of 
" Caesar' s-hill," not that it is particularly much of a 
hill, nor that it is by any means certain the immortal 
Dictator of all conquering Borne ever placed his foot 
upon it, for although indications exist of its having been, 
at one time, the site of military operations, yet antiqua- 
rian research points to a much later date' for the period 
of such occupation — namely, to the eventful time when 
England's " model " king — Alfred the Great — went 
forth on his victorious march towards Reading, halting 
by the way at several points, amongst others at an 



Z THE CHARCOAL BURNER : 

elevated spot "anigh to Fearnham," previously to his 
final expedition against the Danes, whom he defeated in 
no less than seven pitched battles, the last of which is 
supposed to be commemorated by the famous White 
Horse, an effigy, cut out from the chalky side of a hill 
not far from Beading, 

Whether or not properly entitled, Ca3sar's-hill con- 
tinues to be so called, and will doubtless so remain until 
tradition be no more. 

At the period of this tale, which is to say about the 
middle of the reign of our second Henry, CsesarVhill 
formed part of a territory granted some forty or fifty 
years before by Henry I., to twelve monks of the Cister- 
cian order, who, having located themselves at the village 
of Waverley, formed the nucleus of a magnificent estab- 
lishment, celebrated all over Christendom for the piety 
of its members, and the extent of its possessions. 

At this particular time Farnham was a place of much 
greater importance than at present, and had recently 
been the scene of a sanguinary battle, wherein a large 
body of Flemish insurgents, under the Earl of Leicester, 
were defeated by Eichard de Lucy, who, as guardian 
of the realm, during the temporary absence of Henry in 
Northumberland, had command over Bohun, Gloucester, 
and Cornwall, all loyal men and powerful Barons, whose 
assistance enabled him to make a clear riddance of the 
enemy, 10,000 of whom were said to have perished, 
their leader being himself taken prisoner. 

The disturbed state of the country at this period 



A LEGEND OP (LE3AK S HILL. 6 

necessitated in a great measure that all able bodied men, 
between the ages of twenty and thirty-five, should em- 
brace military service, indeed the state of vassalage 
which that time imposed left little to the option of 
anyone, the sole tillers of the land being either old men 
or young lads, excepting one particular class, namely, a 
very few who held tenure under ecclesiastical rule ; hence, 
to serve the monks, or to hold land of them, was very 
desirable to such as inclined more towards peaceful 
occupation than towards the harsh perils of war, and 
as those who so held tenure were but rarely able to pay 
for their privilege in hard coin, it was a very general 
custom to repay in either produce or in labour. 

Amongst the very few who held service under the 
monks, at Waverley Abbey, was a poor " wittal/' named 
Michael Smudge, whose occupation as a charcoal burner 
led him to pass a great portion of his time in the valley 
at the base of Caesar's hill, which was not then, as now, 
a black and barren region, but was covered with a spe- 
cies of tall brush- wood, interspersed with a few stunted 
oaks, and hazel in abundance, the which being of too 
trifling a value for timber purposes, were permitted to 
be cut and even rooted up for the purpose of making 
charcoal. 

Michael Smudge, generally looked upon by his 
companions at charcoal burning as a "wittal," or 
creature of little wit, was not quite what he was gene- 
rally estimated to be; that is to say, he was by no 
means destitute of sense, but possessed a singular 



4 THE CHARCOAL BURNER: 

combination of acuteness in some matters, with obtuse- 
ness in others. He was absent-minded in the extreme, 
given to day-dreams, castle-building (in the air) and 
man)- other peculiarities which seemed to make him the 
butt of his fellow labourers, who would play all manner 
of tricks upon him, such as stealing his dinner, and 
persuading him he had eaten it, or perhaps pouring 
water on his cone of charcoal, and even at times ex- 
changing his sack of produce for one containing green 
twigs only, which the poor fellow would carry on his 
back for many a weary mile, his brains being pre- 
occupied with some day dream or other to the great 
detriment of his worldly prosperity. For the rest, 
Michael was harmless and inoffensive, pursuing his way 
through life with a plodding industry worthy of a 
better cause and better companionship. 

If, however, poor Michael was lowly rated by his 
companions in toil, there was one other in the world 
at least who estimated the humble charcoal burner in a 
degree far above his actual station, and who rightly 
perceived in his pre-occupation of mind the germ of an 
inquiring disposition, such as might be turned to 
account. This one person was no other than Father 
Nicholas, a monk of Waverley Abbey, the leech or 
physician to his fraternity, a man of remarkable know- 
ledge for the day wherein he lived, and also one of no 
small erudition. 

Who Father Nicholas was, or how his life had been 



A LEGEND OE C^SAB/s HILL. 5 

spent before lie became a monk,, was a profound mystery 
to all but himself. In person he was thin, wiry, tall, 
and ascetic of countenance ; that he had travelled was 
an acknowledged fact, but beyond this he admitted 
nothing, permitting rumour, with her hundred tongues, 
to do her best or worst with his reputation, and encour- 
aging instead of refuting the most absurd libels. 

As a matter of course Father Nicholas was reported 
to have studied the occult sciences, and it was due alone 
to his profession of the priesthood that he was not 
shunned, by one and all, as a dealer in the black art — 
let this be as it may, he was, as before stated, leech of 
his fraternity, and as such enjoyed the privilege of a 
laboratory within the walls of Waverley Abbey, together 
with certain immunities of a kind to lessen the restraint 
which had else fettered his actions. 

How this learned monk came to bestow notice on 
a humble charcoal burner happened in this fashion. He 
had, one fine summer's morning, according to frequent 
custom, been collecting a few herbs and simples, of which 
his laboratory stood in need. Amongst others, digitalis, 
or fox-glove, was indispensable, and none could he find. 
Lighting accidentally upon Michael Smudge, and nam- 
ing to him his object, the monk was greatly pleased with 
the alacrity with which the poor lad supplied his want, 
as also by the readiness of his perception in knowing 
one plant from another. 

This accidental occurrence led to further intimacy, 



O THE CHARCOAL BUHNER : 

till at last the charcoal burner became his purveyor 
general of simples, and frequently passed whole evenings 
with his patron whilst concocting medicines in his labor- 
atory. 

In course of time Father Nicholas grounded his 
pupil both in reading and writing, an accomplishment of 
singular rarity in those days ; nor did his kindness end 
even here, for it was the monk's habit occasionally to 
recite and greatly amplify certain passages of historic 
record, especially such as pertained to the occupation of 
England by the Romans. He greatly delighted to tell 
how, in days long passed, the legions of Imperial Csesar 
found our ancestors a race of savages, and how he 
taught them the arts of civilization — how to clothe 
themselves, to make, as well as to use arms to build 
castles, erect bridges, construct aqueducts, and lay 
down roads. He expatiated also on their prowess, their 
martial bearing, their intellectual qualities ; not omit- 
ting to mention the fashion of their dress, their mode 
of attack and defence, and a vast number of other 
matters deeply interesting to a willing listener. It must 
also be admitted that, like nearly all retailers of histori- 
cal romance, the monk, relying on the utter ignorance of 
his audience, by no means fettered himself with the 
chains of probable truth, but greatly loved to mystify 
his hearer by exaggerated descriptions, and even some- 
times utter impossibilities. As an instance of this he 
described the warriors of Rome as men of gigantic 



A LEGEND OE CJESAB, S HILL. 7 

structure, armed to the very teeth, driving about in 
golden chariots, drawn by winged horses, and the person 
of great Caesar himself as no less than ten feet high, his 
glance being lightning, and his voice thunder. 

Amongst other marvels of description, the monk 
especially delighted Michael by telling him that the very 
hill upon which he had been accustomed to follow his 
occupation as charcoal burner had once been an encamp- 
ment, favoured by the presence of Julius Csesar himself. 
This, to the ears of Michael, was indeed enchantment, 
and served as food for many an hour that had else 
passed wearily enough. 

This kind of intercourse, greatly as it was estimated 
both by tutor and pupil, was still not relished by one 
individual at Waverley — that one was no other than 
Paul, the lodge porter, a lean, ferret-eyed, inquisitive 
personage, who greatly preferred his own ease and com- 
fort to the convenience of all other persons whatsoever. 
Now Paul, it must be observed,- did not like to be 
disturbed after vespers, his gate being closed at the hour 
of curfew, and his eyes loving to close at the same time, 
but owing to the long converse which frequently ensued 
between Pather Nicholas and Michael Smudge, he w r as 
frequently called upon to open his gate for the purpose 
of letting out the latter named. This was his grievance, 
and one for which he determined to be avenged when 
fitting time should come. 

At the expiration of some twelve months from the 



3 THE CHARCOAL BURNER : 

date of first meeting with his patron, Michael became so 
dissatisfied with his humble occupation of charcoal 
burning, that it n$ed not be any matter for surprise if 
he longed to become a soldier, to follow in the train of 
some modern conqueror, to wield the pike, to don the 
morion, and himself become a man of mark and mettle, 
an ambition which might seem indeed by no means 
difficult of attainment, inasmuch as every petty baron 
was a warrior chief, and every slave of the soil bound 
to follow in his wake. But then Michael was a ser- 
vant of the Church, which just then was not quite so 
militant as it became a few years later, and as the 
Church's servant was bound to do her bidding, it was 
therefore with a very heavy heart that he still found 
himself compelled to follow his old occupation; but 
there was no help for it. 

With lagging step and heavy heart did Michael, on 
the morning following one of Father Nicholas's most 
glowing descriptions, find his way to the valley below 
Caesar's Hill, for the purpose of preparing a larger 
quantity than usual of charcoal for the use of the abbey. 
Slowly and toilfully did he chop his wood, peel it, build 
it up in the shape of a cone, heap up around it a covering 
of clay, and lastly, apply a light to the mass, after 
which he determined on taking a comfortable nap, 
little doubting he should awake time enough to see 
his task properly completed; but herein he was 
wrong, as the sequel will show, for sleepers are apt 



to dream, and dreamers to sleep on. This was 
Michael's case, for no sooner did his bodily eyes close, 
than his mental optics opened to a scene so strange, so 
vision-like, that if it were not an absolute prophecy, 
must certainly be looked on as somewhat more than a 
mere dream or disease of the imagination. 

This, then, was Michael's dream, vision, or prophetic 
wandering of mind. Looking up from his place of rest 
towards the summit of Caesar's Hill, what was his 
astonishment to behold, in the place of a few straggling 
bushes, a very forest of pikes, borne apparently by as 
many warriors armed and equipped after the fashion 
described to him so often by his priestly tutor. With- 
out doubt these stalwart forms, their heads encased in 
glittering helmets, their loins girded, their feet sandalled, 
their left arms bearing ponderous shields, whilst their 
right hands grasped either mighty falchions or still more 
mighty pikes, their eagle glance, their proud defiant 
look, all, all bespoke the invincible legions of imperial 
Kome, just as he had pictured them from his tutor's 
words. Yes, there were surely the eagle-crowned 
standards of which he had heard. There, too, the war 
chariots, shining with gold ; there also were the engines 
of destruction that either battered down walls, or cast 
forth stones ; there also were the horsemen whose pro- 
digious strength and weight were said to have struck 
such terror into the Gauls that they fled like a whirl- 
wind before them. There, too, in imperial state, towering 



10 THE CHAECOAL BUENEE : 

above all liis compeers in command., was all- conquering 
Csesar, his bald but noble brow crowned with the laurel 
wreath his deeds had so nobly earned, his eye wearing 
lightning in its glance, and his lips giving utterance to 
the far-famed words, " veni, vidi, vied." 

The vision, or the reality (for it seemed both) came 
upon his senses almost palpably, picturing an army of 
ten thousand warriors, accompanied by all the engines 
of war, comprising horse and foot, led on by centurions, 
and commanded by great Csesar himself; but why and 
wherefore ? Did they arise from the dead to do deeds 
of naught ? Or was their errand one of mortal combat ? 
Where could arise the foe, in these degenerate days, to 
meet such men in mortal conflict? Who, amongst the 
pigmy race of present time, should dare withstand 
imperial Caesar's glance ? Surely none ! but if so, why 
their presence ? Hardly had Michael asked himself this 
question when his ear caught the sound of distant 
music, borne fitfully on the breeze in gushes of a har- 
mony so beautiful that his senses revelled in the delight ; 
anon the strain was hushed, anon it came again, soft, 
sweet, yet thrilling. Turning his eye towards the 
quarter whence it came there appeared in the far dis- 
tance, as though approaching from the obscure village of 
ildershot, a motley array of mannikin forms, no bigger 
than himself, clad in every conceivable colour of habit, 
though partaking mostly of red. For a time the cloud 
of dust encircling them prevented any distinct view ; 
when, however, the motley crew advanced nearer, Mi- 



11 



chael was enabled to make out that their fantastic 
habits consisted, for the most part, of close fitting 
jerkins, the colour of blood, spotted round the neck 
and wrists with yellow, green, or blue, their loins 
girdled tight, their shoulders heavily laden with mer- 
chandise, and their heads crowned with frightful cylin- 
drical objects that looked like small church steeples 
cut short in the building ; but strange as seemed this 
fashion of dress, it was stranger still that no defensive 
armour of any kind formed part of their equipment, it 
being evident at a glance that one single stroke of a 
Roman falchion would cut down any half dozen manni- 
kins at a blow, there being not so much as a shield to 
interpose, whilst their only offensive weapon, perceptible, 
consisted of a sort of polished tube, grafted on the stock 
of a crossbow, and fitted at the end with a prong or 
skewer, the utility of which seemed doubtful, unless 
with a view to the toasting of cheese ; if, however, the 
more numerous body were thus lightly armed, there was 
no lack of formidable looking weapons born by a smaller 
party of mannikins, such as seemingly accompanied 
each 700 or 800 of the former kind — this smaller party 
being clothed in garments white as the driven snow — 
but armed with machines of a truly formidable kind, 
huge, bell-like, and brazen mouthed, some coiled in folds 
like serpents, others possessing extraordinary powers of 
elongation, but all formed evidently with deadly intent, 
and capable doubtless of great execution. 

Besides these mere foot soldiers of a so truly ridiculous 



12 THE CHARCOAL BURNER: 

kind, there presently advanced a cavalcade of horsemen, 
not quite so harmless looking, but still very inefficiently 
armed to encounter the glorious cavalry of Rome, for in 
spite of a certain daring look on each countenance, and 
an attempt at beardliness, it became evident, on inspec- 
tion, that these, like the former mentioned, were with- 
out any adequate means of resisting an attack boldly 
made, as, with the exception of a few who were indeed 
armed with tolerable pikes, having little red and white 
streamers attached, their only weapon seemed to be a 
short sword, and a couple of still shorter flask-like 
implements worn at the saddle bow. Beyond these 
squadrons of horsemen, again, came others whose occu- 
pation was to superintend the conveyance of an unac- 
countably strange looking number of engines upon four 
wheels, the purpose and utility of which it was utterly 
impossible for anyone to guess ; they were not of a kind 
called a catapult, although perhaps designed for a like 
purpose, neither were they of the nature of chariots like to 
those of the Romans, but still with an ugly look about 
them betokening mischief. Following upon all these came 
several yet more extraordinary looking engines, upraised, 
like their predecessors, on four strong wheels, but look- 
ing more like huge cauldrons than anything else, and 
possibly intended as such, the whole being guarded and 
accompanied by diminutive warriors, clothed a trifle 
more like men than those who preceded them, having 
their bodies encased in dark blue with red bandages 



13 

adown each leg, and the wallets for their victuals, of a 
like red colour, attached for convenience' sake to the top 
of their head dress. 

As this extraordinary looking body of mannikins 
approached the legions of imperial Rome, the heart of 
Michael Smudge, whilst yet inspired by the high and 
ennobling emotions so natural to one who looked now, 
for the first time, upon military display, could not help 
feelings of the deepest compassion for the doomed host 
now hastening on to its destination. That a conflict 
was imminent there could be no doubt, and that Rome 
would triumph was equally evident, but so unequal 
appeared the chances, and so inevitable the result, he 
could not but mourn the loss of so much gallant daring, 
or help to deplore the overthrow of so much useless 
courage* 

Nearer and more near drew the opposing forces; 
those of imperial Rome being drawn up in close 
phalanx, after the model of ancient Greece, exposing to 
their foe an impenetrable mass truly noble to look upon, 
and utterly impregnable according to the usages of past 
experience, whilst their advancing enemies, instead of 
concentrating their power, seemed rather to spread out 
and gather in groups or columns, forming themselves in 
lines and squares with a rapidity marvellous to look 
upon. Michael could not but feel wonder at the total 
absence of all apparent command on the part of these 
^mannikin forces, as with the exception of two or three 



14 THE CHARCOAL BURNER : 

horses galloping about at random, there seemed to be no 
presiding spirit at work, unless such might have been 
supposed to exist in the person of a little withered old 
man whose upper clothing was a shabby cloak surmoun- 
ted by a triangular head covering, ornamented with the 
tail of a cock. 

Impatience seized upon the legions of Rome ; they 
shouted to be led on, their brawny arms with falchions 
upraised, clashed on their metal shields with a sound 
calculated to spread dismay, yet all was silenced in the 
ranks of the foe, save that there now burst one simulta- 
neous clang of music, entrancing to the ear, and beautiful 
in the extreme. But what availed such effeminate sounds 
to drown the war cry of such men as owned Imperial 
Csesar as their head ? Again and again Heaven's vault 
re-echoed to the hoarse throats of the Roman host, who, 
at the command of their mighty leader, now advanced 
to meet the foe. 

It was a moment of intense excitement for Michael 
Smudge, who looked wonderingly and with awe upon 
the coming conflict. Onward they dashed, as with one 
impulse, those proud defiant warriors, their arms raised 
on high, and their heavy foot-fall shaking the earth 
with a vibration like to a thunder peal. Onward, still 
onward, like the surging wave of ocean tide, the manni- 
kin foe making no response except by upraising to their 
shoulders the tube-like instruments, it almost seemed, 
as if in derision. 



A LEGEND OE CiESAR/s HILL. 15 

The legions of Rome had advanced to perhaps some 
fifty paces distant from their foe, when a marvel occur- 
red of so startling a kind as might well arrest their 
career. From the ranks of the mannikins, or rather 
from tubes of their foremost ranks only, there came a 
sudden flash, a loud prolonged roar, and a vast cloud of 
thick white smoke. Immediately it became evident that 
some strange event had occurred within the Roman 
battalions, two or three hundred stalwart men having 
met with terrible wounds, and many lying in the agonies 
of death, without a single sword-thrust having been 
given or received. Amazed, yet still defiant, their 
momentary halt gave place to an intense excitement, as 
onward they again rushed impetuously as before, to be 
again met with the same upraising of tubes, the same 
flash and volley, the same thunderous peal, and the same 
death messengers that before astounded them. Mad- 
dened with hope of revenge, reckless of all discipline, 
onward yet again they pressed, with a determination to 
crush their foes by a hand to hand engagement, which 
could not fail to be successful as of yore. But here 
again the legions of Rome were at fault, for their 
advance was met by an impenetrable wall of iron 
spikes, tier upon tier, at the same moment as the 
levelled tubes vomited forth smoke and fire, carrying 
with it death and confusion both horrible and strange to 
relate. Nor did the marvel here end; for suddenly, and 
as it appeared without cause, the ranks of their opposing 



16 THE CHARCOAL BUENEE : 

foe divided, forming into two walls, whilst through the 
opened space there issued huge tongues of fire, accom- 
panied by a roaring sound, to which thunder concentra- 
ted in a thousand peals might afford a poor comparison, 
while dense clouds of white sulphurous smoke enveloped 
all things ; but at the expiration of a few seconds a wind 
arose, clearing off the thick smoke, discovering those 
four-wheeled engines of ugly aspect before named, and 
from whose polished interiors there was little doubt had 
proceeded those awful sounds which yet rung in the 
ears of all. 

Michael, not without trepidation, turned his glance 
towards the Roman host, but what a sight presented 
itself; heads torn from bodies, limbs mangled and 
bleeding, some thousand shattered corpses strewing the 
ensanguined ground, and the whole remaining mass of 
combatants looking aghast at each other, seeking in vain 
for a solution of the mysterious death which stalked 
among them. 

Brief time was, however, left for either wonder or 
reply, for like a torrent which had burst its bounds, 
there came amidst them a rush of mannikin cavalry, as 
well as a charge of foot, and before a single one of all 
that gallant host, which so late looked proudly on its 
foes, had time to recover from its dismay, there fell 
upon all alike such unexpected and mysterious cuts and 
thrusts, not to say winged messengers of destruction, 
that neither shield nor morion was of avail, and death 



A LEGEND OF (LESATt's HILL. 17 

came ingloriously, as if Mars and Jove were in league 
together to humble the pride of their once triumphant 
children, and to teach them humility for all time to 
come. 

In a word, the legions of Home were as a thing that 
had departed ; they existed no longer ; they were all 
levelled with the dust ; not one, no not one remaining of 
all that- gallant host, to tell how their despised but now 
triumphant enemies had called forth lightning from the 
skies to do the bidding of a wrathful Jove upon the sons 
of Home, now for the first time humbled even to death. 

Enough. Michael had seen all this. Superstition, 
wonder, admiration, each had by turn possessed him ; 
but fear, never! He seemed to feel that all which he 
beheld was but a shadow ; nay more, he was convinced 
of it, for his own body, led on by an irresistible impulse, 
passed through the entire mannikin ranks without meet- 
ing the least resistance from their impalpable shape, his 
insatiable curiosity inducing him to examine all things 
within his reach just as if they had been realities, which 
for the matter of investigation they did indeed appear to 
be, until absolutely touched by his own living hand. 

Unopposed, therefore, did he seek the huge engines 
upon four wheels to ascertain the secret of their power ; 
but he could make nothing out clearly, beyond the fact 
that some strange characters appeared to be graven on 
them, which a little patient investigation helped to re- 
solve into the words " Whitworth" and "Armstrong ; ,} a 

c 



18 THE CHARCOAL BURNER: 

" spell " or " charm " doubtless ; for unless by the aid 
of Satan, how was it possible for such troops as the 
Romans to have been subdued ? 

Michael's next point of investigation was towards 
those very remarkable engines of brass, with the bell 
mouths and the many snake like coils, the working of 
which lay in the hands of the mannikins in white. 
Here again was he foiled, inasmuch as their formidable 
power seemed to evaporate in mere sound, terrible 
enough in the instance of one huge monster, but gentle, 
soft, and most musical in others. Determined on know- 
ing something at least, he bent his prying eyes again 
upon their form and again discovered a graven "charm " 
in the words, with difficulty rendered, " H. Distin, 
Maker, London/'' another device of the devil, beyond 
all contradiction. 

Once more, with a view to acquire knowledge, did the 
undaunted Michael set forth upon his investigations, 
chance leading him to the side of a mannikin in red, 
who took from a sort of pouch attached to his garment 
something white, oblong, and cylindrical, biting off the 
end with his teeth, and plunging the remainder into the 
tube-like instrument before described. Quickly as 
thought, Michael picked up from the ground the re- 
maining portion, which contained a black powder singu- 
larly like his old friend charcoal, only of a somewhat 
heavier grain. Determined to ascertain, he placed it to 
his lips; the taste was acrid, like salt; to his nostrils, 



A LEGEND OF CLESAR^S HILL. 19 

paugh ! it stunk like brimstone ! yet for all this it did 
seem to the eye like charcoal. He would secure it, and 
accordingly he did so ; binding it up in one corner of 
his tattered garment safely, as he would have bound up 
a golden coin, had he ever possessed one. 

Well pleased with his acquisition, Michael determined 
on still further seeking to unriddle the knowledge of 
his mannikin surrounders, when, let his astonishment 
be judged at finding his vision at an end ! the Roman 
hosts all vanished ! the conquerors nowhere ! Caesar's 
Hill, in exactly its usual state ! and himself cold, stiff, 
and more than half immersed in thex water of a muddy 
ditch ; his cone of charcoal burnt to a cinder, and lying 
at a considerable distance from the spot to which he 
himself had rolled in his sleep. 

Rubbing his eyes, and pinching his arm to make sure 
of being awake, Michael, philosophically enough, turned 
his steps towards home, sadly pondering on the insta- 
bility of mortal hopes, and the emptiness of both his 
own pouch and stomach. For awhile he trudged on 
doggedly, but happening to place his hand on the lower 
part of his garment it encountered a knot ! Yes, there 
it was, certainly a knot, the knot that his own fingers 
had tied. Could it then be that his dream was not all a 
dream ? With trembling digits he undid the knot, but 
lo ! again did disappointment befal, a small roundish 
pebble stone being all that met his view, and nothing 
resembling the black powder he had so carefully placed. 



20 THE CHARCOAL BURNER: 

His dream ended as it began, in nothing. Nothing 
comes of nothing, so be it. 

By the time Michael had reached Waverley Abbey, 
whither his steps had tended of their own accord, the 
hour of curfew had long passed, and as he well knew 
the sour visaged Paul would not admit him to the cell 
of Father Nicholas, it was perforce obligatory on him to 
seek repose as best he might until the hour of matins ; 
he therefore chose a tree, and climbing into its branches 
continued to pass the night after a fashion, but by no 
means cosily. 

With the earliest dawn he sought Father Nicholas, 
and repeating his dream, was not a little nettled to find 
the holy man far less interested in its recital than his 
own vanity had led him to expect; nor was it until 
Michael had arrived at the point wherein he described 
that which he supposed to be powdered charcoal that 
the monk showed any degree of attention, but at the 
point in question he became exceedingly interested, as 
the following dialogue will show : — 

Father Nicholas. — Powdered charcoal didst thou say ? 

Michael Smudge. — Aye, reverend Father, to the eye 
at least. 

F. N. — Like salt to the mouth, art sure ? 

M. S. — Like salt, only a thought more bitter. 

F. N. — And like sulphur to the sense of smell ? 

if. S. — No more, nor less, an it please your re- 
verence. 



A LEGEND OF CMSAEi's HILL. 21 

F. N. — Strange, most strange, I too have dreamed 
of something like to this ! 

Here the monk sat down musingly for a good long 
hour or more, leaving Michael to shift his position from 
one leg to the other, not daring to take the liberty of 
seating himself until commanded so to do by his 
spiritual pastor and master. At length Father Nicholas 
awoke from his fit of musing, and, before dismissing his 
humble friend, enjoined absolute secrecy touching the 
matter of his dreams, promising to allow of his assist- 
ance in the evening during an experiment of the utmost 
consequence. 

Punctual as a dial to the sun did Michael show him- 
self at the hour of vespers, and forthwith began a short 
series of experiments, which it is almost needless to tell 
resulted in the discovery of Gunpowder. For several 
evenings were the twain engaged in concocting every 
variety of combination into which charcoal, sulphur, and 
salt could be made ; and it was not until the monk had 
exhausted his stock of ordinary salt that he bethought 
him of some rock-salt or salt-petre, which had long been 
in his possession, that the exact requirements were 
effected. After this, all difficulties ceased, and the bold 
ecclesiastic, together with his humble coadjutor, found 
themselves masters of a secret destined to change the 
fortunes of an entire world. 

Little now remains to tell except the sequel of this 
true legend, but as that little involves reasons why the 



22 THE CHARCOAL BURNER: 

important secret just discovered was not at once made 
known, we proceed as follows : — 

father Nicholas being desirous of proving the nature 
of his discovery on a scale somewhat more forcible than 
the small dimensions of his laboratory would permit, 
also with a degree of secrecy which was impossible during 
the hours of daylight, had concocted, by the aid of 
Michael, a considerable quantity of the mysterious com- 
pound, which the two had agreed to dispose in such man- 
ner and in such place, as should afford no such clue to the 
brotherhood as might compromise them in superstitious 
eyes. It was their intention to place a heap of the 
compound, consisting of some quarter of a peck, within 
the grounds of the Abbey, and at midnight to insure its 
explosion by means of a slow match. 

This notable plan was however frustrated through the 
curiosity of Paul the troublesome porter, whose vindictive 
feelings towards poor Michael Smudge led him to surmise 
that he could hit upon an expedient for ruining the lad 
by means of watching him secretly ; with this view Paul 
had discovered that for several nights past, a light had 
continued burning, contrary to law, in the laboratory of 
Pather Nicholas, and that Michael Smudge had not 
retired to Ins humble pallet, without the walls, until nigh 
daybreak. 

Determined at last to solve the mystery of what was 
doing within the laboratory of Father Nicholas, which, 
by-the-by, was the uppermost chamber of the building, 



A LEGEND OF C^ESAR^S HILL. 23 

and accessible only by means of a narrow winding stair- 
case bnilt of stone — he stealthily mounted to its door, 
and with the cunning of an eaves-dropper applied, first, 
his eye to a crevice, and secondly his ear, by means of 
which he made out that a conspiracy was afloat to 
astonish the holy brotherhood in some extraordinary 
way or other that very night. 

Full of the importance of his mission, Paul descended, 
as stealthily as he had before ascended — called up from 
his snug repose the Father abbot, who forthwith com- 
manded the attendance of his twelve associates, and 
forming themselves into procession began to ascend the 
staircase leading above, to the loud chanting of " aves " 
and " paternosters," thereby alarming Father Nicholas 
and his pupil to such a degree, that in their anxiety to 
prevent a premature disclosure of their plan, the firkin 
containing the combustible compound was hurriedly 
removed, and the cresset lamp, by which their apartment 
was lighted, swung so violently to and fro through some 
accidental contact, that a spark chancing to drop, caused 
an instantaneous explosion of the whole mass, blowing 
off the roof of the building, and as a matter of course 
entailing destruction upon all within the reach of its 
force. 

After the first minute of terror and consternation, and 
by the light of a few burning fragments, it was discovered 
that with the exception of being blown in a body down 
the staircase, neither abbot, monk, nor porter was 



24 THE CHARCOAL BURNER: 

seriously hurt, although a few pieces of falling masonry 
had caused contusions, and the terrors of superstition 
had produced their effect on the dismayed brotherhood. 
That the roof of their dwelling was torn off by some 
frightful agency, all knew, and that Father Nicholas and 
his companion had mysteriously disappeared, was also 
evident; but until the light of the morrow's dawn came, 
the exact state of affairs could not be guessed at, further 
than that his Satanic majesty was, by one and all, voted 
as the prime cause and mover ; Father Nicholas himself 
being but a subordinate agent. 

With the light of day came a wondering mass of 
neighbours, serving men, retainers of Earnham castle, 
and others whom curiosity brought together, all of whom 
seemed to concur in believing that the devil had carried 
off Father Nicholas ; but it was soon found that if such 
were the case, it must have been his soul only which had 
been taken, for his body, sadly mutilated, was found in 
a dry ditch, thirty or forty paces distant from the Abbey 
wall, stone dead and cold, whilst that of Michael Smudge 
was also discovered upon a large heap of brushwood, not 
quite dead, but with his left ankle bone so frightfully 
dislocated that death appeared certain from that cause, 
together with several contusions of an. almost equally 
serious nature. 

As for the building, with the exception of its roof 
being blown off, little other injury had taken place, owing 
to the solidity of its construction ; the slight proportion 



A LEGEND OE CLESAE/s HILL. 25 

of timber in it having prevented fire from communicating 
itself to other parts. 

The body of Father Nicholas was interred in a stone 
coffin bearing no name,* and without the usual rites of 
sepulture, in deference to popular opinion ; and Michael 
Smudge would doubtless have been put to a cruel death 
from the same cause, but that there existed so intense a 
desire to know how such a catastrophe had been oc- 
casioned, that it was deemed expedient to restore the 
sick lad, if possible, to health, in order that their curiosity 
might be rewarded. 

In the course of a short time the assistance of such 
surgical aid as the times afforded was brought in. Poor 
Michael's leg was amputated, clumsily enough, but yet 
sufficiently well to preserve life. His shattered senses 
were brought back, though not until several months had 
passed over, and the abbot with his brethren were on 
the eve of reaping their reward, when lo ! one morning 
just after sunrise, it was discovered that their ward had 
departed. 

Lame as he was, sick as he yet continued, Michael 

Smudge had departed, without leaving behind him one 

single trace by which his destination could be followed 

up. 

* Since this tradition was penned, it has come to the 
author's knowledge that a stone coffin was lately discovered, 
buried several feet beneath the existing ruins of Waverley 
Abbey. May this not have been the identical one in which 
" Father Nicholas " was interred ? 



26 THE CHARCOAL BUKNEK. 

For years and years he was never heard of; and indeed 
was never, for certain, identified as one amongst living 
men; bnt a rumour gained credit a full half century 
afterwards, that a very learned monk, whose left leg 
must have been amputated in early youth, had died in 
Glastonbury Abbey, having previously signalized himself 
by his profound knowledge of medicinal herbs, and the 
nature of strange compounds, the secret of which, when 
called on to divulge, he uniformly refused to impart, 
saying, " The world of wicked men could destroy God's 
creatures quite quickly enough without his further 
help." 

So saying, departed from life one whom there is 
every reason to believe commenced his career as 
" Michael Smudge,''' the charcoal burner. 



"TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 

" His legs were so long, and his body so small, 
He scarce could be seen as lie climbed up a wall." 

Song of the Spider. 

PREAMBLE. 

There is considerable doubt as to whether the tavern 
now so well known as " Tumble-down Dick/' occupies 
the precise site of a previous tavern which was known to 
stand somewhere about the same spot, but although the 
exact fact might possibly be known by reference to docu- 
ments^ is scarce worth the trouble of ascertaining at the 
loss of valuable time. 

At all events, a tavern did exist long previous to the 
epoch of this tale, and that too on or about the place 
where now stands the tavern before named. But it was 
not then called as it is now called ; for its then appella- 
tion was, so far back as the year 1715, "The Prince of 
Orange/'' a name, given doubtless, in honour of the great 
Protestant hero, but one which was also changed into that 
of "The Duke of Cumberland." There is a suspicion of 
its having undergone a third change of name, previously 
to its having attained its last and most popular designa- 
tion — this is, however, so very immaterial, that the name 



28 



of "The Duke of Cumberland" has been chosen at all 
hazards, as sufficiently indicative for the purpose of this 
tradition. 



In the year 1770, the village of Farnborough, now so 
well known as a prominent station on the South Western 
Railway, was a very obscure spot, although about as 
pretty a place as well could be, in which respect modern 
improvement has been more detrimental than otherwise. 
It boasted very few inhabitants, and those few scattered 
over a considerable space, so that, in point of strictness, 
the name of "village" was almost beyond its pretensions, 
seeing that " Cove " with its comparatively leviathan pro- 
portions, somewhat threw into the shade the modest merits 
of its smaller neighbour, between which and itself there 
existed a kind of jealous feeling amounting almost to a 
prohibition of social intercourse. 

This being the case, Farnborough proper chose to keep 
itself to itself, as the saying is — preferring to exist upon 
its own resources rather than depend any way upon its 
richer neighbour for any but the most indispensable 
supplies ; hence its few inhabitants baked their own 
bread, made their own butter and cheese, killed- their own 
mutton or pork (when they happened to be so lucky as 
to possess any), built their own thatched hovels, and, in 
short, did everything for themselves which needy hands 
could do, and resolute wills could determine. 



29 

Lawyers and doctors were heard of, but never seen ; 
an undertaker, like some migratory bird, was only oc- 
casionally visible. Grocers and linen-drapers were un- 
known animals, and neither a carpenter nor a painter 
would have earned ten shillings in twelve months, if so 
rashly disposed as to venture upon seeking occupation ; 
in short, everybody did everything for himself except 
bury himself, which last act of our human destiny was 
perforce carried out by its legitimate officer, the sexton, 
who, as a necessary appendage to the parish church, was 
somewhat of a consequential individual, embodying the 
several occupations of parish clerk, grave digger, and 
schoolmaster all in one, and being, as a matter of course, 
next to the parson, and the one publican of the village, 
a man to be regarded with respect. 

It must not, however, be inferred from the preceding, 
that there were absolutely no tradesmen in Farnborough 
at all — for there were, at all events, two who so called 
themselves ; the one being a blacksmith, without whom 
the small farms of the neighbourhood would have been 
sadly at a loss, and the other being a tailor in particularly 
small request, who could have been readily dispensed 
with, seeing that, like almost all of his craft, his moral 
habits as well as his physical garments were both of the 
loosest, their joint wearer being not only an idle fellow, 
but a sot into the bargain, thoroughly incorrigible, and a 
pest to all who knew him. 

After this brief preamble it will be readily perceived 



30 



' that the inhabitants of Parnborough were very generally 
poor, either farm-labourers or artisans of humble grade 
in the receipt of a few shillings only per week. Amongst 
such, the recipient of an income amounting to twenty- 
five pounds per annum ranked as a triton amongst 
minnows, and such was the case of an old man named 
Thomas Thrupples, who, with Martha his wife, at the 
ripe age of seventy-seven, inhabited a comfortable three- 
roomed cottage upon an annuity of the amount so named, 
and which was generously allotted them by the owner 
of Farnborough park, for services long and faithfully 
rendered. 

This ancient couple had outlived nearly every care in 
life, excepting one — that one being their grandson Richard, 
or as he was familiarly termed Dick Thrupples, and ulti- 
mately nick-named " Tumble-down Dick/'' from a certain 
infirmity to be noted in proper place. 

This lad, having lost both parents when at the age 
of seven years, took up his residence with the ancient 
couple before named, some twelve summers before the 
commencement of this record, but had fallen down from 
an apple tree, and so seriously and at the same time 
singularly injured his spine, that from such particular 
period it seemed as if his head, arms, and body had 
ceased to grow, whilst his legs shot out to such an un- 
conscionable length, as to give him the appearance of that 
strange myth known to school boys as Mr. No-body. 
Nor did the marvel here end, for with the stunting of 



31 

his body there was found an equal deficiency of intellect 
— not that poor Dick was quite a fool, but that he 
continued to. enact the mere child in mind after he had 
become a youth in body, and that at the age of twenty 
— the exact period of this tradition — he was even then 
but little removed from the same state of boyishness in 
which his original misfortune had occurred; in particular, 
he retained his love for all childish sports, and in con- 
sonance with his nick-name, was for ever tumbling up or 
tumbling down, through the amazing length of his legs, 
which were for ever in the way, and over which he seemed 
to have but very little control. 

It must not, however, be omitted to state that in spite 
of his deformity, Dick Thrupples was rather a good- 
looking fellow than otherwise, having a face so extremely 
like a rosy-cheeked apple that many a lass would gladly 
have possessed herself of its bloom, but that somehow or 
other, Master Dick never appeared to feel any attraction 
towards the softer sex, as though nature had withheld 
from him even those common passions of mankind which 
give life a charm, even in the absence of all others. 

It was just on attaining his twentieth year that Dick 
Thrupples lost his two best friends, in the persons of his 
old grandfather and grandmother, who both died on the 
same day, leaving their boyish grandson almost literally 
helpless in the world. 

Previous to their death, a distant relative had bequeathed 
the old couple a legacy to the value of thirty pounds per 



32 u TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 

annum, which was a source of much gratification to them, 
insomuch as their own peculiar pension, of course, died 
with them; and the present legacy enabled them to 
provide for their grandchild comfortably. 

With a forethought beyond their condition, the old 
people were so prudent as to invest their modicum of 
money in such a way as to secure a monthly payment of 
two pounds ten shillings for the support of their grandson 
Dick — which sum, and the manner of its payment, was 
intrusted to one Humphreys, a farm bailiff in the vicinity 
of Erimley. 

It was a sad day for poor Dick when his aged protectors 
were borne to the grave, attended by the whole village, 
and he himself returned to his desolate home in spite of 
the numerous invitations of his commiserating friends. 

For several hours did Dick Thrupples cry, like a huge 
schoolboy, refusing to be comforted, and for several days 
did the disconsolate young man bemoan his helpless con- 
dition — eating his meals uncooked, vainly endeavour- 
ing to light his own fire, and pettishly rejecting all aid 
from neighbours. 

In particular he thrust aside the attentions of a young 
woman who made no secret of her desire to better his 
acquaintance; this young lass, Patty Smallcheek, was 
servant of all work at an inn or road-side tavern called 
the " Duke of Cumberland/'' only a few hundred yards 
beyond the village on the road towards Farnham. 
She was one of those good-natured, artless, but ignorant 



" TUMBLE-DOWN DICK. - " 33 

creatures, who in this age of knowledge would have been 
pronounced Cl an impudent hussy/'' but yet was in reality 
a simple-minded woman who saw no wrong in speaking 
exactly as she thought with very scant ceremony and no 
reserve. She was also what is termed a "strapping 
figure" — meaning she was full five feet ten inches in 
height — and strong in proportion, being quite capable, 
and not at all shy, of taking^er ^^ part in a game at 
fisticuffs if necessity arose^? > ^s? 

It had pleased Patty Smajlcjteek to fancy poor Dick 
Thrupples for her intendea\ftusband ; and it also had 
pleased her to tell him so %j a thousand feminine arts 
more eloquent than words, such, for instance, as the 
present of any little delicacy in season, a^ boiled pig's tail, 
a roasted onion, or occasionally some hard-bake of her 
own making. She also invariably took his part in all 
half childish quarrels, and stood in some sort his guardian 
whenever a wicked jest was sought to be played upon 
him, such as the drawing away of a chair when he was 
about to sit down, and upon one occasion was nigh 
getting herself into serious trouble through saving her 
favourite from being " tripped up," by gently tapping 
his assailant's head with a rolling pin, which happened 
to weigh three pounds or so, and thereby fracturing his 
skull so badly as to necessitate his visit to a lunatic 
asylum. 

Why Dick Thrupples should have resisted Miss Patty 
Smallcheek's advances in his hour of trouble, is one of 

D 



34 



those mysteries known only to the deeply learned in life's 
philosophy. Byron has said, " 'Tis best to begin with a 
little aversion/' and if this be true, then the loves of 
Dick and Patty argued well, for Dick would not suffer 
his protectress to help him in any fashion, but sate and 
sobbed on the door step of his cottage like a child who 
had broken his best toy. 

At last, and only when driven by hunger, Dick 
Thrupples consented to take board and lodging with a 
poor old woman named Pipkins, and who dealt in such 
small commodities as needles and thread, laces, bobbins, 
pipe-clay, slate pencils, and, to a limited extent, in 
matches and tinder-boxes. Under her roof the young 
man found himsflf very comfortable for the space of two 
years, during which time his intellect, although it did 
not greatly improve in strength, yet advanced slightly, 
so that he forsook the companionship of absolute children, 
and began to associate with grown men; his chief 
favourites being three decidedly dissolute fellows, to wit, 
the blacksmith, the tailor, and the sexton — all of whom 
loved nothing better than to drink themselves tipsy, 
except to play tricks on their kind benefactor Dick, whose 
savings from his monthly income were all spent on them 
at the "Duke of Cumberland" tavern. 

There was but one other " person " in all the world 
who had a strong claim on Dick's affection, and that one 
was " Jack/' a tame magpie of wonderful sagacity, living 



" TUMBLE-DOWA T DICK. - " 35 

at the " Duke of Cumber] and/' and generally understood 
to be trie chief personage on that establishment. 

With " Jack " Dick Thrupples had long since formed 
a close intimacy and was believed almost to converse 
with it rationally on subjects political, social, and senti- 
mental. At all events, if the two friends did not 
absolutely converse, they assuredly understood one 
another, and the magpie would do Dick's bidding when 
he would neither obey nor seem to understand the 
behests of anyone else. 

Tor two years, as before noted, Dick Thrupples, now 
approaching his three and twentieth year, had lodged with 
poor Mrs. Pipkins, enjoying the very height of human 
felicity, with a splendid income of two pounds ten 
shillings per month, with four valued friends (including 
the magpie), and with one declared lover, or loveress, in 
the person of Patty Smallcheek — his time passing in one 
continued round of contentedness, varied only by the 
nature and frequency of his " tumbling down," which 
feat he usually accomplished once in every four and 
twenty hours at the very least. 

But now, an event was about to occur, and demands 
another chapter, insomuch as its character is greatly at 
variance with all which has preceded. 



36 "TUMBLE-DOWN DICK. 



CHAPTER II. 

At about five miles, or may be six, from Farnborough, 
there now stands a house called " Warren's Corner/' in 
the occupation of a wealthy bookseller from London. 
At the period of this tale it was in the occupation of 
Squire Beechborough, a gentleman of great wealth but 
eccentric habits ; like most of his class he was a sports- 
man, and dearly loved to follow the hounds over a break- 
neck country. 

Squire Beechborough had not married until late in 
life, and having no children by his lawful spouse had 
adopted his own natural son, a well educated and 
estimable young gentleman, as his successor; but as, 
unluckily, the whole of his landed estate was strictly 
entailed, it was out of his power to provide for this son, 
otherwise than by setting aside a portion of his yearly 
income for future contingencies. 

This, Squire Beechborough had clone to the extent of 
seventy thousand pounds ; all of which was invested in 
government securities. But, with all this caution, the 
squire had omitted to make his will, thereby ' failing to 
secure his son's right to the property in question. 

It was on a fine hunting morning in the month of 
November, with a " southerly wind and a cloudy sky/' 
when the Squire, and a large field of brother sportsmen, 
were in full chase of a remarkably sly fox, close upon 



" TUMBLE-DOWN DICK.'' 37 

the neighbourhood of Earnborough, when at an unlucky 
moment his horse first threw, and then fell down on him, 
smashing in his ribs and lacerating his lungs to so 
dreadful an extent that death, from excessive bleeding, 
was inevitable, unless instant relief could be obtained. 

The Squire was taken to the " Duke of Cumberland " 
tavern, and there placed upon a bed whilst one of his 
friends went in search of a medical man to Farnham, a 
distance of six miles. 

The Squire, although in frightful pain, felt the 
necessity of making his will without a moment's delay ; 
and as no lawyer could be obtained any more readily 
than a doctor, it was decided by his friends, that a will 
should be extemporised on the spot; for this purpose 
his son produced a small Russian leather memorandum 
book, and amidst the lamentation of all did the poor 
Squire dictate a brief will — leaving his son the whole of 
his available property, the said will being witnessed and 
signed within the period of one quarter of an hour. 

No sooner was that solemn formality effected, than a 
rush of blood choked the Squire's utterance, and in the 
confusion of the moment, coats, hats, memorandum book, 
and all other matters scattered about the bed, were 
thrown on one side — the newly executed will being 
amongst them. 

Before any medical man could arrive, the poor Squire 
was a corpse; his weeping son and sorrowing friends 
being in the utmost consternation. 



38 "TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 

At the moment of tin's lamentable event sever x 
persons, including the host of the inn, entered the room, 
and none passed into that adjoining, whereto the coats, 
hats, and papers were carried ; but nevertheless, when 
search came to be made for the dead man's will, neither 

IT NOR THE EUSSIAN LEATHER MEMORANDUM BOOK COULD 
BE EOUND. 

Great was the dismay of the Squire's party at this 
unaccountable loss. The Squire's son declared that he 
had, himself, deposited the will in the memorandum 
book, and one of the witnesses of the will declared he had 
removed every article, including the said memorandum 
book, from the bed to the adjoining room which he had, 
himself, locked. Questions were asked — accusations 
almost made—search effected — but no will found \ and 
no possible mode suggested by which its loss could have 
occurred, unless through an open window in the adjoining 
room, and to which access could only have been found 
by means of a ladder. 

Shortly after death the Squire's body was removed to 
his own residence, and in due time consigned to its last 
resting place, yet still no intelligence respecting the tes- 
tamentary document came to hand ; every chamber, cup- 
board, drawer, nook and cranny of the inn was searched, 
and, as a last resource, a printed placard was circulated, 
offering a reward of five hundred pounds for the 
missing will ; but entirely without result. 

As a matter of course the Squire's legitimate nephew 



1 e TUMBLE-DOWN DICK. ' 39 

took possession, not only of the entailed estate, but also 
of the large sum in government securities, which his 
predecessor had intended for the inheritance of his son — 
there being no shadow of legal excuse why administration 
should be stayed, although a " protest " was certainly 
entered into against his nephew's rather precipitate 
claim in the forlorn hope that the missing will might yet 
" turn up " somewhere. But all without avail, for six 
months passed over — the month of May arrived, and 
all hope was finally abandoned by the parties most 
interested, 

Meanwhile Dick Thrupples continued his monotonous 
round of blissful indolence, living upon his income, 
drinking with his friends, conversing with the magpie, 
and tumbling down or up, as the case might be, in his 
usual fashion ; as to his love episode with the strapping 
Patty Smallcheek, it also continued in "statu quo;" the 
maiden, however, keeping steadfast to her attachment, 
and acting his guardian angel as heretofore. Many were 
they who advised Dick to marry the young woman for 
his own comfort's sake, but Dick invariably replied in 
the negative, " he did not understand what was meant by 
a wife ; but that when he grew richer he would take her 
as a grandmother ! " 

It was a somewhat singular circumstance, that with all 
Dick's easy indolence of mind touching affairs in general, 
he yet took reasonable care of his money — never spending 
one shilling beyond his monthly income, and frequently 



40 



" threatening " to save up something towards the future ; 
a glimpse o*f intellect deemed very remarkable by all who 
knew his general want of forethought. He even used to 
express himself as intending to do such and such a thing 
when he grew "richer," till it become a standing joke 
against him that he should " find the Squire's will," and 
thus become, what he desired to be, "richer" by five 
hundred pounds. 

It was on a sunny afternoon, towards the latter end of 
May, that Dick Thrupples, the blacksmith, and the 
sexton, entered their usual haunt, a back parlour in the 
"Duke of Cumberland" tavern ; and the blacksmith, as 
a preliminary to the evening's mirth, had taken pains to 
arrange a chair, with one of its legs loose, in the place 
usually occupied by Dick, intending to enjoy the fun of 
seeing him sprawl upon the floor; but the ever watchful 
Patty Smallcheek had observed this benevolent intention, 
and determined to defeat it ; for which reason she called 
attention to some matter out of doors, and cunningly 
exchanging the two chairs, provided for her favourite a 
plate of Welsh rabbit, thus ensuring his taking the right 
place at table. 

This having been done, the wily blacksmith fell into 
his own trap by sprawling on the floor just as he had 
anticipated the enjoyment of seeing poor Dick in a 
similar position ; and so great was the laughter of all 
parties standing by, that " mine host " forthwith deter- 
mined on having a picture painted to commemorate the 



" TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 41 

occasion, so soon as he could find an artist equal to the 
"job/' as he called it* 

After harmony had been restored, conversation turned 
upon the " lost will." Dick Thrupples was interrogated 
as to where he had last searched (for he searched some- 
where almost every day), when a luminous idea struck 
the sexton, who turned abruptly towards Dick, and in a 
tone of earnest inquiry said, " Dick, my boy, didst ever 
ax the magpie?" 

Now Dick had never asked the magpie, whether 
because he did not, himself, believe in those powers of 
inter- communication which were ascribed to him by his 
companions, or whether, simply because he believed the 
magpie could not tell him ; but certain it is that Dick 
immediately responded to the sexton's question by 
answering, " No, but I will ask him now." 

Accordingly Dick, followed by his quondam friends, 
sallied forth, and finding "Jack" the magpie on his 
usual "beat," namely, before the front of the house, 
inspecting the poultry, he attempted to capture the bird 
after his usual manner, but found, contrary to expecta- 
tion, that " Jack " refused to be captured or cajoled, 
hopping off as fast as he was pursued, and looking 
suspiciously at a morsel of bread held forth as a lure. 

* The picture was soon afterwards painted, representing 
the actual fact, and the sign of the house also changed to 
that of " Tumble-down Dick." It is only the popular error 
of to-day which supposes the sprawling figure to be that of 
"' Dick," it being, in reality, that of the blacksmith. 



42 " TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 

" Jack's " wings had long since been clipped, the bird 
could therefore only hop, or at best ascend, by means of 
his wings, to very slight elevations from the ground, 
through a series of short flights ; and on the present 
occasion exerted, to the utmost power, his abilities that 
way by perching firstly, upon the house-door top, next, 
upon the gutter over the house front, then upon a low 
gable point, where, supposing himself safe, he looked 
and breathed defiance at' Dick, who forthwith sought a 
ladder, determined not to be outwitted by his small 
friend. 

Just as the ladder was brought, " Jack," looking upon 
the proceeding as quite "unparliamentary," shifted his 
quarters to the top of a chimney pot from which he 
looked down, his head knowingly on one side, with some 
degree of apprehension, but nevertheless kept his post. 

Now it should be told that the "Duke of Cumberland" 
was a tavern which had received many additions since its 
first building, the latest of all being a three-story wing, 
surmounted by a tall stack of brick built chimneys, 
towering high above the gable roof of old and rotten 
straw thatch that covered in the ancient portion of the 
house. 

Dick had ascended, by means of his ladder, to the 
first roof, in hopes of capturing the magpie; but "Jack" 
was in a coquettish mood, and would not be captured, 
at least, till driven from all his resting places by sheer 
compulsion. With a great effort, Jack had contrived to 



" TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 43 

mount the window sill of the third story, when Dick, 
putting up the ladder to the roof of the old house, placed 
it against the wall of the brick building, in order to 
pursue the bird to the last of her possible perching 
places, when his usual luck followed, as a matter of 
course, the ladder he was ascending slipped aside, and 
poor Dick fell crashing through the rotten thatched roof 
into a space between it and the ceiling of a room below; 
Jack the magpie retaining his elevated post, and chuck- 
ling over the fall of his best friend, almost as if he had 
been a Christian. 

Great was the outcry of Dick Thrupples when he 
found himself struggling amidst a cloud of dust, an 
avalanche of straw, and an uncomfortable bed of broken 
rafters ; to rise up and shake himself vigorously was his 
first effort; and on finding no bones broken, to look 
about him was his second ; but almost before he could 
do so, " Jack " the magpie descended of his own accord, 
and began to take measures of his own for inspecting 
the place, which was no other than a disused loft that 
had never been entered for many long years, and the 
very entrance to which had been boarded over ; the only 
peculiarity of the place consisted in its having a chimney 
or air vent, descending from the same stack as served for 
all the rooms of the old portion of the house itself; and 
upon the flooring, or rafters, immediately below this lay 
an accumulation of odds and ends, all of which had been 
lost or missed for half a generation. There were old 



bones, several silver tea spoons, a thimble, some lace 
ornaments, the remains of sundry old ballads, one or two 
short pipes, and, wonderful to relate, Squire Beech- 
borough's missing will, safely folded up in the Eussian 
leather memorandum book ! all of which items were 
doubtless dropped down, from the chimney above, by 
master " Jack " the magpie. 

With a shout of exultation, Dick Thrupples proclaimed 
his good luck, and descended from the loft, not merely 
a wiser but a richer man; for he obtained, the five 
hundred pounds reward ; the Squire's son obtained his 
rightful legacy ; and Dick Thrupples consented to marry 
Patty Smallcheek, to the satisfaction of all parties con- 
cerned, even of the magpie, who chattered his approbation 
to the understanding of all. 

The five hundred pounds, obtained as a reward for the 
lost will, Dick deposited, for safety's sake, with the before 
named Humphreys, from whom he obtained his monthly 
pension, and who had, for some years past, been collector 
of the assessed or King's taxes for his district, being 
reputed a rich and thriving man. 

CHAPTER III. 

It would have been very easy, as well as convenient, to 
have ended this story with the marriage of Dick and 
Patty ; but truth, which is stranger than fiction, must 
be told, and the truth is well worth reading. 



"tumble-down dick." 45 

One month, exactly, after the preceding event, 
preparations having been made on a grand scale for the 
approaching wedding, Dick went, as usual, to Mr. 
Humphreys for his monthly stipend, as also a small 
addition of funds to meet coming expenses, when he was 
apprised of a terrible fact. 

Mr. Humphreys, the rich, honest, well-to-do collector 
of public taxes, and the depository of numberless sums 
belonging to poor people (whose hanker he was supposed 
to be) — had levanted — gone — disappeared — run away — 
was gone off to AMERICA ! Upon inquiry, it was 
found that he had secretly disposed of his land, collected 
all his debts, received all available monies, and had really 
disappeared in toto. 

Dreadful and astounding was the loss to very many, 
but to poor Dick Thrupples it was total ruin. The blow 
fell upon his small intellect, crushing all the little 
amount of energy it had ever possessed ; but not so did 
it fall on Patty Smallcheek, who girded up her loins, 
brushed up her faculties, put on her best clothes, 
collected all her savings of several years, and finally 
announced her determination to follow old Humphreys 
and get her lover's money back, even if she had to go 
to America. 

Of course all Parnborough thought Patty Smallcheek 
mad; firstly, because it w r as by no means sure that 
Humphreys had started for America, when he might 
have a thousand other places to choose from; and 



46 " TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 

secondly, because Patty was a poor ignorant wench who, 
probably, did not know that America was absolutely out 
of England. But Patty took her course in spite of all 
advice or ridicule, and walked off to London that same 
night, carrying all her worldly wealth, consisting of nine- 
teen pounds five shillings and sixpence, securely sewed 
within her stays, leaving Dick Thrupples in care of his 
old hostess. 

Before following the honest hearted girl on her strange 
journey, it will be necessary to premise, that then, as now, 
America was truly the favoured destination of all run- 
away rogues, but was not then, as now, accessible any 
day of the year, for the mail packets, which sailed but 
once a month from Liverpool, and an occasional merchant 
vessel, were the only means of transit. Also, that run- 
away bankrupts, thieves, and defaulters, were scarcely 
ever followed beyond the shores of the three kingdoms ; 
no police force, of any tolerable organization, being 
available, and not even "Bow-Street runners " as yet 
invented. 

So far as Old Humphreys'' defalcations went, the 
government took little heed, seizing upon the property 
of the old man's sureties, without the slightest delay or 
remorse, and leaving them to obtain whatever restitution 
they could. 

Such being the case, and the sort of case pretty well 
anticipated by the run-away collector, Patty Smallcheek's 
enterprise was not quite so forlorn as it looked to be. 



" TUMBLE-DOWN DICK." 47 

We will now follow our brave heroine, but in order to 
avoid circumlocution will be very brief in our detail. 

On arriving in London, Patty lost no time, but paid 
her money at the "Spread Eagle" in Gracechurch Street, 
booked herself by the waggon stage for Liverpool, and 
at the end of seven days from the time of leaving Farn- 
borough, reached that now celebrated port, then only in 
the childhood of its commercial importance. 

Taking no counsel but her own shrewdness, Patty 
arranged her dress so as to avoid being conspicuous, 
obtained information as to what vessels were about 
leaving port, watched every passenger who embarked, 
and was at last rewarded by detecting Old Humphreys, 
through the disguise of a juvenile wig, and clutching him 
on the shoulder. 

'* So Ize caught ee at last, old wagabone ! " were the 
mellifluous words addressed by the Amazonian lass to her 
prisoner ; and it would require the pencil of a Hogarth 
to do justice to Old Humphreys' amazement as he 
recognized his capturer. 

u Get away, Jezebel," shrieked the astounded rogue, 
" get away — you mistake me, woman." 

" Mistake ye — is it ? " again spoke Patty, " may be 
then your name isn't Joe Humphreys, and ye don't 
come from Primley, and yer haven't my Dick's five 
hundred pounds in yer pocket, and yer didn't run away 
with the King's taxes, and yer — '' 

"Stop, stop," cried Old Humphreys, who wished for 



48 



nothing so little as an exposure to the crowd now gather- 
ing round. u Stop, come aside with me, and I will prove 
you are mistaken/' 

Patty, who saw her bird securely caught, was nothing 
loath to arrange matters privately, and went with him into 
an open doored tavern, where, after much determination 
on the side of Patty, and much reluctance on the part 
of Old Humphreys, it was agreed that Dick Thrupples's 
five hundred pounds, and Patty's own nineteen pounds 
five shillings and sixpence should be instantly refunded 
by Humphreys, as the price of his departure for America, 
unscathed. 

The old rogue essayed all means in his power to avoid 
this alternative, but in vain ; his victor was a determined 
woman, strong as a man, armed with the power to bring 
destruction on his head, and with the full intention of so 
doing, if her demands were not complied with ; he there- 
fore unbuckled a capacious pocket-book, drew forth five 
Bank of England notes for one hundred pounds each, 
unburdened his pocket of nineteen guineas, and with a 
sigh like that of a dying grampus, resigned himself to 
his fate, taking Patty 's assurance for his sole guarantee 
against exposure. 

Calling up the landlord of the tavern, Patty Small- 
cheek requested him to word a receipt, and sign it in her 
name ; she forthwith appended her mark, and delivering 
the paper to Old Humphreys in a business like style, took 



49 



her departure, whilst the old rogue stood shaking in his 
shoes before the astonished innkeeper. 

What became of Old Humphreys for several years 
after no one could tell, but America did not seem to 
agree with his health, for he was known to " turn up " 
again in England, still in the farming line, and was a 
great stickler for Tory principles. As for Patty and Dick, 
they married, and thrived, despite all prognostications to 
the contrary by all Patty's friends. 

In course of time, they became proprietors of the 
" Duke of Cumberland " tavern, which, after their death, 
was called by its present name of " Tumble-down-Dick, '' 
to be so remembered, by all posterity, in honour of its 
celebrated tenant. 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 

" I care for nobody, no not I, 
And nohody cares for me." 

Old Soxg. 

About the middle of last century, or more properly 
speaking, about the year of grace 1745, just after 
Charles Edward Stuart, surnamed the Pretender, had 
left both his friends and his enemies in the lurch, there 
stood in the midst of that dreary waste known as "Cove 
Common/'' a ricketty tumble-down old windmill, built 
after a fashion long gone by, and, at the time now 
alluded to, fast falling into the last stage of decay. 

To those readers not versed in the topography of 
Hampshire, it may be necessary to state that Cove Com- 
mon, even to this hour, is a dreary waste of land to the 
south west of " Cove/'' a secluded village in the vicinity 
of Farnborough, and consisting, for the most part, of 
land unfitted for agricultural purposes, being extreme- 
ly variable in its character, showing here and there 
patches of heather or gorse, exhibiting long deserts of 
sand, with a few straggling blades of grass occasionally 
appearing, some few trifling water courses, and occasion- 
ally a small clump of pine or fir trees, not particularly 
luxuriant in their growth, excepting where the common 
itself was traversed by the well known turnpike road 



THE 3IILLEX OF CO YE. # 51 

from Bagshot to Farnham, a portion of which, at 
the present day, exhibits the frill growth of what was, a 
century before, a mere sapling plantation. 

Dreary as was this spot at even the best of times, it 
was rendered more than even objectionable to travellers, 
through the fact of its being the one especial rendezvous 
of art the four winds of heaven; if there was no wind 
anywhere else there was plenty of it on Cove Common, 
and if there was a wind anywhere else it blew hurricanes 
on Cove Common, and if there was a wind tempest on 
the - "Hog's Back/' or on Salisbury plain, there were 
cyclones and typhoons rattling, tumbling, and tearing 
about on Cove Common, uprooting the very blades of 
grass, and driving up the sand in eddies and whirlpools, 
like the waves of a turbulent sea. 

It was probably for this reason that a windmill had 
been erected in the locality, the only marvel being that 
the said mill had ever retained its integrity in a spot so 
entirely destitute of shelter, as was the particular one 
on which it appeared at the opening of this story. 

Simon Burr, the occupant of this identical mill, had 
arrived . at that locality together with his wife and infant 
daughter, some seventeen years and a half previously 
to the events now about to be related, and a brief 
recapitulation of intermediate occurrences is indispensable 
to the proper understanding of what follows. But 
before entering upon particulars, it is necessary to 
state that the " mill " in cptestion was so situated as to 
stand a good, mile and a half distant from " Cove " itself 



52 t THE MILLER OE COVE. 

and scarcely nearer to any other habitable district, so 
that its isolation was as complete as its desolate appear- 
ance was uninviting, rendering it a matter of great sur- 
prise to the neighbourhood that any man of common 
sense should have the temerity to speculate in so strange 
a place of business as the mill of Cove Common. 

Be this as it may, at the period before specified, 
the mill was found to be tenanted by one Simon Burr, 
a heavy-made repulsive-looking man, his wife, a small, 
good-looking, smartly-dressed woman, and their infant 
daughter, a bright-eyed merry-hearted little thing, just 
then beginning to "toddle" about in the thirteenth 
month of her age. 

It will be needless to enter into minute particulars 
regarding transactions long antecedent to the main 
interest of this tale ; it shall therefore be said merely, 
that Simon Burr, who to his other unamiable quali- 
ties, added those of unsociability and extreme igno- 
rance, appeared to care very little about business 
matters, and although not quite unversed in the 
routine of his trade, yet showed so little alacrity as to 
pay no heed whether much or little corn found its way 
up to be ground, thereby giving his neighbours reason 
to suspect that he and his small family did not depend 
on the profits of the mill for their living, absolutely — a 
matter in which they were probably right ; but whatso- 
ever was the exact source of the miller's income, it re- 
mained a secret locked up in the bosom of the miller's 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 53 

wife, who kept that secret to herself, not even acquaint- 
ing her husband with it, far less any one of the several 
gossipping neighbours who occasionally made their way 
up to the mill, almost for the sole purpose of obtaining 
information. 

For nigh upon ten years, Simon, his wife, and child 
led a somewhat unobtrusive life ; the miller in his 
stolid indifference to all things, going very little into 
the society of his fellow-men, avoiding the vice of 
drunkenness so common in his day, and keeping very 
early hours at the mill, being rarely out of his bed 
later than eight o'clock in winter, and nine in summer ; 
his wife devoting much of her time to the education of 
little " Nelly " in which occupation it was hereafter 
found that she had evinced both knowledge and abili- 
ties beyond her apparent station in life, whilst the child 
herself grew apace and had become a tall, graceful, merry- 
hearted girl, the pet of all who knew her, and the 
chosen playmate of such few farmers' children as the 
neighbourhood afforded • all of whom were proud and 
lofty to claim " Nelly Burr " as their very particular 
friend. 

But a period had now arrived when it was found 

necessary to place the young girl under somewhat better 
restraint than that of her mother ; and it was ultimately 
determined that a famous " Seminary for young ladies," 
situated at Guildford, should be resorted to for the comple- 
tion of Miss Nelly's education j accordingly, much to the 



54 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

surprise of some, arid to the envy of others, all of whom 
wondered " where the money was to come from/'' Miss 
Eleanor Burr, the miller's daughter, was forthwith 
despatched to the destination before named, there to 
consort with young ladies, whose parentage was, gene- 
rally speaking, of much higher caste than her own, and 
by associating with whom she speedily became greatly 
improved, not merely in outward appearance, but also in 
all the scholastic acquirements of the day then in vogue. 

For seven years, Nelly Burr continued the course of 
study marked out for her, during which time no per- 
ceptible change took place in the affairs of her parents, 
both of whom followed their usual routine of general 
indifference to what most people called the " pleasures of 
life, rarely venturing beyond the walls of their mill, 
which, being built upon a solid basement of brick, served 
both for residence and business purposes as well, and, 
not being so forlorn looking within as it seemed to be 
from without, served tolerably well for all household 
purposes; but suddenly, and almost without warning, 
there came a change. Mrs. Burr was taken ill, not 
very seriously, as was supposed, but yet sufficiently so 
to necessitate the visits of a surgeon who lived at the 
distance of two or three miles at least, and for whom 
a messenger was instantly despatched. 

Before, however, the surgeon could come, Mrs. Burr 
became speechless, greatly to the disturbance of her hus- 
band, who evidently sought to obtain from her some in- 



THE MILLER OP CO YE. 00 

formation to which he attached the utmost value ; vain 
were the attempts of Mrs. Burr to attain utterance, — ■ at 
length the surgeon arrived, and it was at once pro- 
nounced that a paralytic fit had set in, which would 
probably terminate only with her life ; at this juncture a 
sheet of paper, together with pen and ink, were placed 
before the suffering woman, but all in vain, she was 
powerless to make any communication, and before an 
hour had passed away, died, having "made no sign." 

This melancholy termination appeared to greatly 
affect the miller, who, sending immediately for " Nelly/'' 
betook himself to a degree of such frantic sorrow as 
appeared wholly incompatible with his previous course 
of life, indeed so greatly, that even the poor girl herself, 
in the first fulness of her own grief, was compelled to 
attempt the lessening of her father's trouble, lest it 
should fall into violence. 

No sooner, however, were performed the funeral rites 
of Mrs. Burr, and the office of housekeeper had become 
devolved on Nelly, — than a most remarkable difference 
began to show itself in the temper and habits of the 
miller himself. 

Never sociable or intelligent, Simon Burr became 
downright rough and almost cruel in his treatment of 
his daughter, as well as reckless in his general demeanour, 
going out late of nights, seeking companionship with 
low, brutal fellows of suspicious character, and com- 
mitting all sorts of eccentricities more allied to absolute 



56 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

stupidity than to intentional crime. He would quarrel 
with the very few harmless people who might have been 
his friends, and would thrust his company on others 
who made no secret of detesting him for his 
surly habits in former times ; above all, he appeared to 
have taken deadly hatred towards a certain young 
gentleman, the son of a well-to-do farmer at Crondall, 
and whom both he and his late wife had looked upon 
as the affianced husband of Nelly, with the full concur- 
rence of all parties concerned. 

The young gentleman, by name, Stephen Boldash, 
was the handsomest lad, the best swimmer, the finest 
cricketer, and most powerful wrestler of all the country 
round, and, in the ardour of his love for his young 
and beautiful affianced, had not only joyfully submitted 
to all the miller's bad temper, but had sought to 
propitiate his good will by every means in his power, 
not, as it once seemed, without effect; but suddenly, 
without ostensible cause, and wholly without either 
rhyme or reason, the miller interdicted his visits to the 
mill, giving him to understand that if he ever should 
be seen within its precincts "he (the miller) would 
break every bone within his (Stephen Boldash's) skin/' 
which elegant piece of oratory was replied to by the 
said Stephen to the effect that " such a game was one 
which two gentlemen could engage in with equal advan- 
tage," whereat Simon Burr took additional offence 
and would have attempted summary vengeance, but 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 57 

that his half-amazed and half-annoyed dispntant showed 
so much good temper, and so much gymnastic activity 
(a science in which he excelled), as fairly astonished 
the burly miller into something akin to admiration. 

Matters had gone on in this way for six months 
after the death of Mrs. Burr, when the incidents about 
to be related took their origin. 

Stephen Boldash, in defiance of the miller's interdict, 
had contrived to see his lady-love pretty nearly every 
night, choosing for his time of visit, those hours when 
the miller himself was invariably away from the mill. 
For some few weeks past, the young woman who acted 
in the capacity of domestic servant had been discharged, 
and a poor slip of a lass, from Cove, made her ap- 
pearance every morning, taking her departure in the 
afternoon, whereby sundry domestic offices fell to the 
share of Nelly beyond custom. Alterations had also 
been made in the interior economy of the mill; the 
chamber once occupied by Simon and his wife being 
appropriated to the use of Nelly, whilst that in late 
occupation of the serving girl was now the miller's own 
bed-room, the large semi-circular apartment forming 
one side of entire basement of the mill being used as part 
sitting-room, part kitchen, and part warehouse; its 
floor being kept in continual disorder by the piling of 
sacks, both full and empty, with an admixture of other 
nuisances greatly distressing to the eye of a female 
accustomed to tidiness. 



58 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

It had also lately become apparent to Nelly that the 
funds of the establishment were becoming somewhat 
low, that certain little luxuries were missing— that, in 
fact, her only parent was scarcely so thriving in cir- 
cumstances as w r as his wont, and more than once had 
she endeavoured to arrive at a positive conclusion in 
the matter, only to be repulsed almost savagely. 

Now, it must here be intimated, a little, no doubt, 
to the lowering of Miss Nelly 's dignity, as a heroine 
of romance, that she and her father had never been 
upon those terms of affectionate love which should 
properly subsist between father and daughter ; true it is 
she had always yielded him obedience, but it was from 
habit only, not from choice; and of late years the 
bonds of this habit had greatly loosened themselves, 
through the gradual decline of that regard which is 
the result only of respect felt and acknowledged. 

Within the last two months, poor Nelly had 
found that her father looked upon her as an incum- 
brance, a something which stood in his way, a restric- 
tion on his own movements ; and it was with extreme 
pain that the young girl found her suspicions of such 
becoming more warrantable every day. The miller's 
habits, too> were becoming somewhat mysterious ; he 
attached himself to the company of one man in par- 
ticular, a barber, named Norcutt, whose unmannerly 
disposition had long since driven away all customers, 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 59 

leaving him no friends except such as were, like him- 
self, at war with fortune. It was to this man Simon 
Burr attached himself, going out with him very 
late at night, in which case it was his custom to 
lock the door of the mill outside, leaving his daughter 
positively a prisoner — more even than that, he had 
lately not merely locked the outer door of the mill, 
but on several occasions even locked her up in her 
chamber, so that she might not await his return by 
sitting at the fireside for hours together in anxious or 
curio as speculation as to the cause of his absence. 

It was on the evening of a cold and windy November 
day, eight or nine months after the death of Mrs. Burr, 
that the miller and his daughter sat by the fireside 
of their general apartment, having finished their latest 
meal, and both regarding in silence the ruddy glow of the 
half burnt logs as they blazed steadily in the grate. 
Scarcely a word had passed between them for the last 
half hour, and the miller himself was beginning to doze 
in his wide, leather arm-chair, when a peculiar sound, 
somewhat like frhe whistling of a bird outside the mill, 
caused Nelly's ears to tingle and her cheek to be 
covered with a burning blush; whatever might have 
been the particular nature of the sound, it appeared 
to have escaped the miller's own observation, and was 
immediately followed by the uprising of the miller's 
daughter from her chair, and by the lighting of a tallow 



60 THE MILLER OF COVE, 

candle — of that thin kind now out of use, but then 
known as " twenty to the pound/' giving a very poor 
and uncertain light. 

The appearance of the apartment itself was some- 
what incongruous : immediately before the fire stood 
the table on which was spread the material of a sub- 
stantial evening meal, but it was not the heavy square 
table in general use which used formerly to occupy 
that post, being one of those which stood upon a single 
claw; the form of the apartment was semi-circular, 
and pretty nearly all the articles of furniture in gene- 
ral requisition filled up one end of it, whilst the other 
end was appropriated to the stowage of certain imple- 
ments and appurtenances connected with the business 
of the mill. Bushel measures, tools of various kinds, 
sieves and baskets were piled up carelessly together, 
some dozen sacks, filled with' corn, flour, and potatoes, 
stood supporting each other against the outer edge 
of the room, whilst a couple of dozen empty sacks were 
doubled up in halves and lay piled up in a heap beside 
those which were full — overhead, where thick rafters 
of solid oak served to support the story immediately 
above, there hung one solitary flitch of bacon, partly 
cut through, and several paper bags of herbs with a 
large dried pumpkin or gourd occupying a central spot 
immediately opposite the fireplace; on either side of 
the mantel stood a door, the one opening upon a stair- 
case which led to Nelly's chamber, and the other 



THE MILLER OE COVE. 61 

leading into a small closet which contained the miller's 
own bed. 

Scarcely had the candle been lighted than three 
distinct taps were heard on the outer door of the mil], 
upon hearing which, the miller started up quickly. 
and instead of receiving his visitor within the apart- 
ment, himself issued out, closing the door immediately 
afterwards. 

Nelly, who, for special reasons, was tolerably well 
versed in the art of signalling, knew perfectly well that 
her father's visitor was the man Norcutt, whom she 
greatly disliked, fearing, as she did, that he was 
leading her father into mischievous courses ; his myste- 
rious " three raps " had always preceded some excursion 
or enterprise which kept the miller out later than usual 
and sent him back gloomy and discontented. 

On the present occasion, Simon Burr re-entered the 
mill with his countenance bearing a particularly deter- 
mined aspect; his first words to Nelly were, "to your 
chamber, wench " — a command which provoked some 
little remonstrance on the young lady's part, leading 
to a reiterated order on the part of the miller, who 
forthwith almost thrust his daughter up the stairs, and 
into her room, the door of which he locked, taking 
with him the key in his pocket, and afterwards descend- 
ing the stairs — thinking doubtless his own actions to 
be free from observation. 

But herein the miller was' wrong — not only as 



6£ THE MILLER, OE COVE. 

regarded this latter calculation, but also as regarded 
the one which preceded it — for Nelly, who had been 
locked up several times before, had provided herself 
with a second key, and had also discovered for her- 
self a mode of observing whatever might occur in the 
lower apartment, by means of a tolerably broad chink 
in the flooring of her room, exactly at the very best spot 
for making observations; it may, or it may not be 
that she widened the chink herself, but if so, where 
is the woman, so devoid of curiosity, that would not 
have improved the circumstances in a like way under 
similar provocation? 

No sooner had the miller descended the stair, than 
Nelly betook herself to the friendly chink, wherefrom she 
beheld her father button himself well up in a large 
loose wrapper which enveloped his whole person, 
after which she saw him take from the press cup- 
board, which formed a part of the partition wall of 
the mill, some dark-looking object and a flask containing, 
as she was always given to suppose, brandy or spirit ; 
— he then drew over his brow a large leafed black 
hat, very different from the light-coloured head cover- 
ing required by his trade, and prepared to sally forth, 
so different a kind of being from his usual self, that 
no small portion of alarm mixed itself with the sur- 
prise his daughter felt at so unusual a transformation. 
Before, however, Nelly could suggest any interpre- 
tation of the mystery, Simon Burr had departed, 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 63 

locking the outer door of the mill, as usual/ after 
which the sound of retreating footsteps told suffici- 
ently that she might re-open the door of her own 
room, and descend to the lower apartment, if she chose 
so to do. 

As it happened, she did so choose, bearing in mind 
the recollection of a certain signal, given immediately 
before the arrival of her father's quondam acquaintance, 
Norcutt. 

Descending the stairs, Nelly lost no time in raking 
together the dying embers of the fire, and placing upon 
them several small logs, which soon sent forth a merry 
blaze, sufficient to have notified to the miller how vain 
had been his precaution, had he happened to turn his 
head from the path he was actually pursuing. 

There Avas one, however, whose head was not turned 
away, for, so soon as the merry blaze gave indication of 
a presence within the mill, then a window, some ten feet 
above the ground, opened from without, and a joyous • 
looking pair of jet black eyes, belonging to a sun-burnt 
yet ruddy countenance peered saucily into the room, 
quickly followed by the entire corporeality of an extremely 
active and strongly built young man — no other than the 
Stephen Boldash before named as the acknowledged lover 
of Nelly Burr. 

Jumping into the room with a bound like a cork, 
Stephen made scant ceremony of saluting his lady love, 
who, in return, after the slightest possible show of coyness, 



64 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

suffered her lover to place his arm round her waist and 
lead her to the fireside, where the two accommodated 
themselves in the one large roomy leathern chair lately 
vacated hy the miller himself, and the following conversa- 
tion ensued. 

Stephen Boldash. — Well, Nelly darling, you see I never 
break a promise, let come what may ; I have vowed to 
see and speak with you every evening, in spite of you 
know who, and here I am. 

Nelly. — Yes, dear Ste,, but what terrible risks you 
run; were my father to detect you here, evil would 
befall us both, perhaps all there, for he is violent and 
you are rash ; but how comes it you ventured so close 
without my signal being given ? 

S. B. — I was in a place of safety and secrecy. 

N. — How ? where ? surely not on that side of the 
mill at the back of its entrance ? 

8. B. — No, dearest, in a better place than that. I 
found the mill sails stopped, so made a flying leap at the 
one nearest the ground, climbed up it, like a cat up a 
ladder, and took my station at the cross- centres, where 
it would have required a sharp pair of eyes, on such a 
night as this, to have known me from a huge spider 
setting in the middle of its web. Ha ha ! 

N. — Silly fellow, and you have run such a foolish risk 
of detection, or other danger, for a portionless girl like me? 

S. B. — Not portionless, dear Nelly, for you have 
youth, beauty, and the sweetest temper in the world, 



THE MILLER OE COVE. 65 

which are of more worth than all the gold and jewels in 
existence ; while, as for danger, why I like it, I glory in 
it ! besides, where and what is the clanger I would not 
face for such a reward as this ? 

Whereat Stephen Boldash, not at all shy of displaying 
his affection, took just so many kisses as could well be 
taken without drawing breath, and then was shocked to 
find that the face of Nelly, instead of being wreathed 
with smiles, was positively bathed in tears; a matter 
which surprised him greatly. 

There is no need to detail any further conversation 
between the pair, for on being tenderly pressed to com- 
municate her grief, Nelly made a clean breast of her 
sorrows, telling Stephen how much cause she had to fear 
that the miller had taken to wicked courses, and not 
scrupling to inform him that Simon Burr had left the 
mill in company with Norcutt, a confession she might 
well have omitted, insomuch as Stephen acknowledged 
he had seen all from his position on the mill sails ; when, 
however, Nelly communicated the fact of her father's 
having armed himself with some suspicious looking 
weapon, Stephen immediately guessed the said weapon 
to be a horse pistol, in which supposition he was con- 
firmed by seeing upon the table an ounce, or more, of 
coarse gunpowder, which had evidently been spilt from 
a flask in the darkness and hurry of a moment. 

This terrible confirmation of Nelly's fears rendered 
the remainder of an hour's conversation the reverse of 

F 



66 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

agreeable, but notwithstanding this, time flew on quicker 
than was supposed, and the pair were taken at much 
surprise by hearing shuffling footsteps, accompanied by 
the voice of the miller himself, approaching the door of 
the mill. 

Time was not for consideration, scarcely for action ; 
but in one moment's space, Nelly contrived to envelop 
the form of her lover in one of the empty sacks, before 
alluded to, and to place him beside those full sacks which 
stood close behind the others — in one moment more, she 
had tripped up stairs, and with her own key locked her- 
self up again, just as if nothing had occurred since the 
departure of her father. 

Scarcely had this been effected, than the miller opened 
the door, and by the whispered conversation, as well as 
by the shuffling noise made, it became evident that he 
was still accompanied by his ill-favoured companion, as 
also by something else — a heavy load, which the two 
bore in, with some difficulty, between them, and let fall 
upon the floor with a heavy " thud/' 

Immediately afterwards the door closed, and from her 
post of observation up above, Nelly was enabled to 
observe that her father appeared as if in great trepida- 
tion, for his hand trembled violently as it essayed to 
thrust the tallow candle, which he had taken from the 
table, into the yet smouldering embers of the fire, 
muttering, as he did so, unintelligible words of im- 
patience. 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 67 

At length, some of the melted tallow falling on the 
hot embers, ignited the candle wick and produced a 
sudden flash of light, revealing to the poor girl's horror- 
stricken faculties the presence of a ghastly corpse, which 
was indeed the burthen brought in between her father 
and the man Norcutt, and which, in all the rigid agony 
of death contortion, lay with its glassy eyes wide open, 
and the clotted blood yet clinging to a wound in the jaw. 

Spell-bound in horror, and with a stifled scream upon 
her lips, Nelly yet continued to look down upon the 
awful scene below. After having lit his candle, Simon 
Burr, and Norcutt, each surveyed the dead man's body 
in silence; after which they raised their eyes simul- 
taneously, and meeting each other's glance, appeared both 
half stupefied. At length the miller spoke : — ' ' A black 
night we have made of it ; " to which Norcutt replied, 
"Why did the fool resist then? we had nowght for it 
but to stop his noise after he had bawled out." " He 
will bawl out no more," again spoke the miller, " and 
now the deed is done we had best see what it is worth ; 
so let us search his pockets." 

"With this the two men proceeded to rifle the dead 
man's pockets, when, for the first time, it became 
apparent what sort of personage it was that had fallen 
their victim. 

The murdered man, judging from his ample overcoat, 
and neat suit of black garments, together with his 
possesion of a large silver watch and a bulky black 



68 THE MILLER OE COVE. 

leathern pocket book, had the appearance of a lawyer, or 
of some confidential traveller belonging to a well-to-do 
employer, a sum of money too, amounting in all to 
several guineas, gave extra proof of his respectability, 
whilst the absence of the usual sword (at all times then 
worn by individuals calling themselves "gentlemen" 
whilst travelling) proved that he must have arrived to 
within a short distance, in some public conveyance, 
probably by the newly established Portsmouth light 
waggon. 

After minutely searching, the two men, finding no 
more money nor other valuables, proceeded to undo the 
leather case, which was found to contain papers and 
documents only, none of which they were enabled to 
decpiher by reason of their ignorance of reading or 
writing; besides which, none of the papers in question 
possessed any particular claim to their curiosity excepting 
one large sealed envelope, tied up with red tape, and 
bearing a superscription in large characters ; this the 
man Norcutt took occasion to secure, whilst Simon 
Burr, after counting the money, and placing the gold 
and silver in two separate heaps, rose up from his stooping 
position with a deep drawn sigh, and addressing his 
companion in crime with a saddened voice, spoke — 

" We have sold our souls and bodies for fifty -three 
shillings each, I wish I had had nowght to do with it." 

"Thee'st a fool, Simon Burr," replied Norcutt, "if 
thee beest sorry, I beant; so let us e'en pocket our 



THE MILLEE OF COVE. 69 

gains, and pnt this carrion away afore the day comes to 
tell tales." 

Hereupon arose a discussion as to how the body should 
be disposed of; it being ultimately decided that they 
should place it in a sack, and take it betwixt them to a 
large sheet of water called Fleet Pool, there to be thrown 
in at a certain place where the water was deepest. 

Having thus decided, the two proceeded forthwith to 
thrust the murdered man's body into one of the empty 
sacks from that heap which had already done service in 
concealing one living body ; a few minutes sufficed for 
the task, but instead of immediately carrying away their 
burthen, a sudden whim, or perhaps the sight of the 
money yet lying where Simon Burr had placed it, in two 
heaps, caused them to place the sack, with its ghastly 
burthen, upright against the line of sacks standing close 
by, and exactly next that wherein Stephen Boldash, 
more dead than alive, jet contrived to preserve his 
perpendicularity. 

After pocketing their separate shares of money, Simon 
Burr and Norcutt fell into an argument touching their 
horrible crime, in which high words were nigh ending 
in blows, till, struck with terror lest his daughter should 
be disturbed from her supposed slumber, the miller 
ceased speaking, just as his candle, burning down in the 
socket of his candlestick, gave note of dissolution. 
Whereupon he and his comrade set about, in all haste, 
to carry forth their intention of bearing away the corpse ; 



70 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

and now occurred an incident of so singular a kind that 
the like was perhaps never before heard of— for the sack 
which held the corpse having slid down from its upright 
position to one horizontal, was, in the nickering light 
which only yet remained, suffered to lie where it fell, 
whilst that which contained the living body of young 
Stephen Boldash, was hurriedly shouldered by the miller, 
in mistake, and, by the assistance of Norcutt, carried out 
away from the mill ! 

Up to this last moment, an agony of fear and horror 
had chained Nelly Burr in silence ; but no sooner had 
the miller and his companion set forth on their unholy 
errand, than an hysterical scream burst from her sur- 
charged bosom, and with the peril of her lover yet upper- 
most in thought, she unfastened her door, rushed down 
the stairs, and proceeded to liberate, as she supposed, 
him whom she had left in such dreadful plight ; but the 
room was in darkness — her lips refused giving utterance 
to a sound — she felt as if losing her senses — but with 
yet one effort of self-possession, searched a spot where 
she knew there was a tinder box, and succeeded in 
striking a light, though not in finding a candle. 

By aid of the match, however, she was enabled to 
perceive the one sack lying on the floor, and judging 
immediately that Stephen Boldash had become insensible 
through fright, she put forth all her own strength, pulled 
away the covering and lifted up the inanimate body 
she supposed to be that of her lover, and placed it in a 



• 

THE MILLER OE COVE. 71 



sitting position in her father's leathern chair, making use 
of the most endearing terms to promote reanimation: 
finding all efforts vain she once more searched for a 
candle, and now with success, whereat a second light 
was rekindled, and the candle lit. 

Turning its full light upon her supposed lover, the 
terrible certainty of truth struck a chill through the very 
marrow in her bones. The corpse of the murdered man 
sate bolt upright, or rather only leaning slightly back, 
with its white features, its glassy eyes, and its blood- 
bedabbled clothing, a hideous sight to see, and one the 
more appalling from the conviction it brought to mind of 
the terrible exchange made, by which the living burthen, 
carried away in mistake, might also be consigned to 
death when the fatal error should be discovered. 

For a few moments surprise enveloped all the young 
girl's faculties ; but in one brief space longer, a frantic 
hope of being yet in time to save her lover swallowed up 
all minor considerations, and caused her to rush out of 
the mill, the door having been left on the latch only, 
and with a speed such as nothing but desperation could 
give, make her way across the common ; her white dress 
and dishevelled hair floating in the utmost disorder, like 
those of a maniac. 

Leaving poor Nelly to pursue her course towards Meet 
Pool, it is necessary to recur to the position of Stephen 
Boldash, who, when he suffered himself to be covered 
over by the sack, was too much bewildered to offer any 



72 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

resistance, and whose extreme peril, after the miller had 
entered the apartment, obliged him to keep perfectly 
motionless as the only course of safety left under 
circumstances. 

In breathless horror he listened to the words of the 
two murderers, and was more than once on the point of . 
throwing off his disguise and attempting to rush forth 
and denounce them, but prudence, almost for the first 
time in life, restrained him, the more so that one of those 
whom his testimony must condemn was the father of 
the girl he loved. 

On hearing them determine to carry the body of their 
victim to Meet Pool, his hopes of escaping detection 
beat high, and it is just possible that the slight move- 
ments he unconsciously made caused the sack containing 
the body to slip down. But when he felt himself 
taken on the brawny shoulders of the miller, in, mistake 
for the bod// of the dead man, a panic of uncontrollable 
terror seized him, and had the miller been otherwise than 
greatly excited, would have betrayed him to inevitable 
death. It so happened, however, that Simon Burr was 
himself labouring under too much excitement to note 
the difference between a living and a dead weight ; con- 
sequently Stephen Boldash had time to consider his 
position, and wisely to determine on keeping up the 
cheat, if possible, until such time as he should be thrown 
into the water — under which circumstance he hoped to 
escape, being able to swim like a fish and dive like a 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 73 

duck. Somewhat comforted by such a curious possibility, 
he now determined on "enacting the corpse" as well 
as he could, holding himself rigid, and giving way to no 
impulse of vitality. In this he succeeded pretty well, 
although the stifling heat of his covering was both hard 
to bear, and greatly irritating to his olfactory nerves. 
But what will not a man endure for his life's sake? 
Meanwhile the miller and Norcutt took their way 
silently, until about a mile of the distance to be over- 
come had been past over, when, growing tired, the miller 
proposed Norcutt's taking his turn for carrying the sack, 
to which Norcutt demurred, saying he was not strong 
enough, but suggesting, as Fleet Pool was yet three 
miles distant, that the body should be flung into the 
nearest pond or water-course available. 

This being acceded to, it was not long before Stephen 
Boldash found himself brought to a sudden halt ; and 
by the splashing of a stone thrown into water, he knew 
that the man Norcutt was endeavouring to ascertain if 
there was depth enough for the purpose contemplated. 

This proving to be the case, it then became a matter 
of contention whether they should throw him in sack 
and all, or tie a stone to his neck and throw him in 
minus the sack — and terrible was the fear lest this last 
alternative should be adopted. 

Fortunately, a distant sound, like the tinkling of bells, 
put an end to all further argument, by giving indications 
of an approaching team, and Stephen felt himself thrown 



74 THE MILLER OE COVE. 

heels foremost into the water whilst the sack was at the 
same time drawn from his head, and a precipitate retreat 
made by the two murderers — thereby enabling him to 
struggle out of his watery but friendly haven, with no 
more damage than a smart ducking in a somewhat less 
savoury bathing place than he would have chosen under 
pleasanter circumstances. Within five minutes after- 
wards, he had the satisfaction to perceive advancing 
towards him a four wheeled waggon, drawn by a team of 
six horses, bound for the village of Cove, and of which 
he gladly availed himself by its driver's permission — 
heartily thankful for his deliverance. 

After having thrown their supposed victim into the 
water, the miller and his companion Norcutt made their 
way together for half a mile or so, when Simon Burr, 
having no further fancy for the company of his partner 
in crime, declared his intention of proceeding alone to 
his home, and a curt "good night"" was exchanged 
between them ; the miller proceeding as he had stated 
he would, to the mill alone, whilst Norcutt took his 
path another way. 

On reaching within sight of the mill, Simon Burr was 
somewhat astonished at perceiving the door open, and a 
light burning within; greatly discomposed, and yet 
fancying that he himself must have left the place thus 
unsecured, he made his way cautiously up the two steps, 
and then, only by the light of the long-wicked candle, 
which Nelly had left upon the table, did his eye meet the 



THE MILLER OF COVE. 75 

frightful vision of his late victim, sitting up in the 
leathern chair, as if in mockery of the attempt to dispose 
of him, after the fashion just narrated. 

Aghast ! with his hair standing erect upon his head, 
and with his teeth chattering, the conscience stricken 
wretch stood rooted to the spot — in vain did he essay to 
fly — he could not move, except forward ; in vain did he 
try to speak — his mouth seemed full of sawdust ; but 
with eyes fasciuated by the horrible object before them 
he tried to convince himself that the thing was still 
unreal, a marvellous deception of fancy ; yet no ! there 
was his own leathern chair, and in it the tangible form 
of him he had murdered, and with his own hands thrown 
into the pool of muddy water. Soon, however, a frantic 
determination seized him — he would advance into the 
mill — he would himself touch the horrible thing — he 
would be sure it was real. No sooner did this idea 
possess him than he had no power to resist its achieve- 
ment. He dashed into the mill, seized hold of the 
candle, and placed his hand upon the shoulder of the 
corpse, shaking it so violently that it fell forward into 
his very arms; and so great was the terror of Simon 
Burr that he fancied himself embraced in a deadly 
struggle. 

With a shriek of almost maniacal character, he flung 
aside the lighted candle, and upset the table, causing the 
few particles of gunpowder which his own carelessness 
had deposited, to ignite. In one moment the tablecloth, 



76 THE MILLER OF COVE. 

and other combustible matters, were ablaze; but notwith- 
standing this, the wretched man writhed and rolled about 
the floor, clasping in his arms the object of his terror, 
and in the wildness of his fancied combat heeded not the 
flames which now enveloped the entire room. 

Gnashing his teeth and foaming at the mouth, Simon 
Burr hurled maledictions upon his supposed adversary, 
till human nature could bear no further strain ; over- 
powered bj the smoke and perfectly insensible, he 
relaxed his hold of the dead man's body, only to fall a 
prey to the flames that now ascended the staircase and 
seized upon the upper portion of the old mill, which, 
being composed mostly of wood, and that too abundantly 
dry, was in a few moments wrapped in sheets of fire from 
its foundation to the very mill sails — the latter being 
put into quick motion by the powerful element, and 
adding a last and crowning feature of the catas- 
trophe. 

Thus perished the chief actor in this terrible drama, 
and very little more remains to be related. Stephen 
Boldash, from his position on the waggon before men- 
tioned, perceived the burning of the mill, at the same 
time that his quick eye caught sight of a human figure, 
with dishevelled hair and flowing garments, running 
about wildly as if without method- 

That this was Nelly need scarcely be told, and that 
he lost no time in arresting her aimless flight may also 
be supposed ; but it was not until the morning following 



THE MILLER OP COVE. 77 

this event that the poor girl recovered her senses 
sufficiently, to be informed of all that had happened. 

Daring the next day crowds of visitors found their 
way to the spot where a few smouldering ruins alone told 
that the mill had once been. A magisterial investigation 
of all the facts caused the immediate apprehension of 
Norcutt, upon whose person was found the sealed packet 
which he had taken from the dead man's pocket, and 
which proved to be a letter addressed to Simon Burr, 
conveying intelligence that the child who was supposed 
to be the daughter of his late wife, before marriage, was 
indeed the child of wealthy parents whose necessities had 
compelled them to depart for a distant part of the world, 
leaving their treasure in charge of Mrs. Burr, who had 
authority to receive the sum of two hundred pounds 
yearly for its maintenance ; but which sum was only to 
be obtained through a special form of application, un- 
known to her husband. The letter furthermore stated 
that the child's parents having now returned to their 
native land, were desirous of reclaiming her, and had 
commissioned the bearer of that despatch (a partner in a 
legal firm at London) to present the miller with an order 
for five hundred pounds as a reward for the care taken 
of their child. 

Thus, Nelly, to the great joy of all knowing her, was 
found xot to be the offspring of guilt, but the happy 
daughter of wealthy parents who lost no time in showing 
their affection, and were too wise to refuse their sanction 



78 THE MILLER OE COVE. 

to a marriage with StepKen Boldash, although the altered 
position of the young lady might have served as an 
excuse for refusing it. 

As for the man Norcutt, the law made short work of 
him, and should any one think fit to inquire fuller 
particulars, they may be found in a certain record kept 
in the city of Winchester, where amongst a long list 
of names, alphabetically arranged — that of " James 
Norcutt"" may even yet be seen; appended to the same 
being the mysterious words <c sus per coll." 



THE "CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY. 

" All men wondered while the thing was a mystery, even 
the great Dr. Johnson ; but when the mystery was cleared 
up, all men wondered why they had been such fools as to 
believe in it." — Story of the Cock- Lane Ghost. 

There is no period in England's history of which 
Englishmen have so little reason to be proud, as that 
of the reign of James II., during which, closely following 
upon the suppression of Monmouth's rebellion, almost 
every post of honour, emolument, and trust, was in the pos- 
session of individuals unworthy of honour or confidence. 
Setting aside all matter irrelevant to the present story, 
it will be sufficient to tell that the clergy — in general — 
were such a sorry body of rogues that they were not 
merely disregarded in their spiritual character, but were 
absolutely ignored in their social position, being, as 
Lord Macaulay observes, almost entirely banished from 
the presence of the gentry, and sent to take their meals 
in the servants' hall, whenever called upon to officiate in 
the mansions of persons above the rank of petty squires. 
Nor was the contempt of respectable people confined to 
this class especially, for it extended to nearly all such 
functionaries as " Justices of the peace, Churchwardens, 
Collectors of taxes, &c, &C./' all of whom seemed to 



80 THE 

share in the common obloquy — possibly whether they 
deserved it or not. In brief, so badly was organised 
the machinery by which the state was governed, even in 
its most subordinate branches, that there is little wonder 
if crimes, frauds, and tyrannous practices, were suffered to 
go wholly unpunished, so long as they did not touch upon, 
or interfere with, the Royal prerogative, a matter the con- 
tempt of which alone touched His Majesty King James, 
always setting aside that monarch's determination to crush 
the Protestant religion, and re-establish Catholicism. 

One of the peculiar evils of this disgraceful epoch, was 
the systematic neglect of Churchwardens, and parish 
authorities of all kinds, to exert their influence and 
power in the repair of public highways, and the pre- 
servation of public rights. There was, at that time, 
scarcely a public road throughout the entire kingdom, 
over which a waggon or carriage could travel ten miles a 
day : even those in the immediate vicinity of large towns 
were woefully neglected, whilst such as connected together 
places of minor importance, were impassable during the 
winter months, or only to be travelled at the risk of life 
or limb by reason of bog and quagmire. 

This brief introduction, rendered necessary by the lead- 
ing features of this legend, will account for and excuse 
itself as we now proceed to the business of narration. 

During the latter part of the reign of King James the 
Second, a large tract of land, bordering upon the counties 
of Hampshire and Surrey, now well known as Aldershot 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 81 

Camp, and its vicinity, stretching towards the vale of Ash, 
was of such an anomalous character as to be only des- 
cribed as a mixture of sand, swamp, and bog, occasion- 
ally relieved by stunted herbage, and dotted here and 
there with a few clumps of trees. This land, then 
literally no man's land, was useless for the purpose of 
cultivation (the science of draining being then not under- 
stood), its herbage was insufficient for the support of 
even stray animals, its bog was not even available for 
such purposes as even bog may be turned to, and its 
sandy portions were fit for nothing at all. 

Such persons as might have proved a legal claim, did 
not appear to think it worth their while to do so ; and 
it would not, therefore, be a matter of surprise, if a few 
miserable " squatters/' as we should now call them, chose 
to appropriate to themselves a portion here and there, 
on which to erect a hut, or otherwise shelter themselves 
from the weather. 

One man, bolder or richer than some of his neighbours, 
having " squatted " upon a portion of this land, situated 
some four or five hundred yards distant from what is 
now the Greyhound Inn, upon the high road from 
Ash to Aldershot, and looking north-west from that 
place, had built for himself a house of very considerable 
pretensions, being of brick and stone, three stories high, 
and substantially roofed in with strong red tiles. The 
man who had built this lonely and solitary looking house 
lived not to tenant it, but, dying suddenly, willed it 



82 the "clock-house" mystery. 

away to his only sister's husband, one Donald Ramsay, 
of London, a watch and clock-maker, and not unlikely 
to be a descendant of the famous David Eamsay, well 
known to King James the First. 

At the time this property fell to the share of Donald 
Eamsay and his wife, commercial pursuits were in so un- 
nourishing a condition, that tradesmen of unambitious 
character, were fain to retire from trade, with their 
moderate gains intact ; and of this number was Donald 
Eamsay. He determined on, and succeeded in, trans- 
ferring his establishment for clock-making into the hands 
of a successor, for somewhat less than its real worth, and 
very gladly turned his back upon the metropolis, intend- 
ing to pass the remainder of his days on his own ' e landed " 
estate, namely, on the premises willed to him by his 
wife's brother. 

He therefore betook himself, with all his goods and 
chattels, to the lonely house before described, but had 
no sooner done so, than an ague carried off his wife, 
leaving the childless old man to pass the rest of his days 
as he best might, in such companionship as the neigh- 
bourhood afforded, or in the pursuit of such occupation 
as circumstances might turn up. 

For a while he remained in seclusion, his domestic 
affairs being conducted by a staid matronly female, long 
past the age of suspicious dealings with the sterner sex. 
But absolute seclusion did not suit Donald Eamsay after 
his experience of town life — he pined for the companion- 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 83 

ship of thought , for occupation, and for a definite object 
in life. His income was sufficient for all reasonable 
wants, he was content to remain single, although not 
more than fifty years of age, and he had no desire to 
shift his quarters, although the loneliness of his house 
was greater than bargained for, and its inaccessibility a 
great drawback to social intercourse with such neighbours 
as might be found if sought. 

After a few months' residence, and finding that none 
of his neighbours sought him, Donald E-amsay determined 
on endeavouring to conciliate them by personally seek- 
ing their acquaintance, but found only three individuals 
within reach, whose position, being accessible to him, 
was worthy of possible cultivation ; these three were the 
parish clergyman, or parson of Aldershot, one Simon 
Bullockwash, a man said to be of considerable scholastic 
acquirements, but of dissolute drunken habits, the other 
two were Gideon Walsh and Thomas Mutton, the two 
churchwardens of the parish, boon companions and worthy 
associates of their superior, the Rev. Simon Bullockwash. 

A few very short interviews with these gentlemen, 
convinced Donald Ramsay that the companionship he 
sought lay not in their direction, and he was fain to rely 
upon the resource of his books, which he had brought 
with him, in mechanical pursuits, having also the tools 
and certain material of his old trade, and above all, in 
certain astronomical studies which had been his ambition 
in early life, and in order to further which, he had con- 



84 THE 

verted the attic chamber of his house into a sort of ob- 
servatory, by extending its windows and adding a balcony 
or extra stage, giving his tall house the appearance of 
being exceedingly tall for its width. 

After having passed twelve months in his lonely resi- 
dence, Donald Ramsay at length formed one promising 
acquaintance in the person of a gentleman living at the 
obscure village of Farnborough, and whose name was 
Bateman. He was independent, but of small means, and 
had an only son whose inclination led him towards me- 
chanical pursuits as an amusement only, the ingenuity of 
clock-making being one which took his fancy, impressing 
upon his mind the vague idea of his acquiring, in time, 
the long supposed feasibility of perpetual motion. 

Mr. Bateman, the elder, was a plain common sense 
gentleman, of no peculiar or individual character, but 
Mr. Bateman, the younger, was a strange mixture of 
imagination, and matter of fact — an innate poet, and yet 
a keen observer of matter of fact things. It was his de- 
light to pass whole days, nay weeks, in the large lumbering 
half workshop, half observatory, of Donald Ramsay, acquir- 
ing knowledge of many kinds, but without any definite 
pursuit. At length it was agreed on between young Bate- 
man and Donald Ramsay to build a clock of gigantic 
proportions — Ramsay finding the money, and directing 
the manufacture, whilst young Bateman gave the utmost 
of his time and labour. 

This clock was to be made on a very comprehensive 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 85 

plan, somewhat after the kind spoken of as fashioned in 
Holland, notifying the month of the year, the day of the 
week as well as month, and several other additions to 
the ordinary seven- day clock then beginning to come in 
use. 

Two years passed away before this clock was completed, 
during which time Donald Eamsay had several times 
visited London to purchase materials, and had spent no 
less a sum than twenty pounds out of his own pocket, a 
circumstance scarcely calculated on by the shrewd Scots- 
man, whose love for the " siller " was very considerable. 
Still the honest craftsman did not much regret the ex- 
pense, seeing that after all he had done something beyond 
the common run, and had got something tangible to 
show for the outlay. 

It was a great day for Donald Eamsay and young Bate- 
man, when their clock was to be for the first time seen 
by any other eyes than those of its makers ; and also a 
great day for old Mr. Bateman, when he, and several 
friends, determined on making a journey from Farn- 
borough in order to inspect the work upon which his 
son's ingenuity had been, in part, expended. 

A fine morning in the month of October, a.d. 1690, 
saw Donald Eamsay and young Bateman eagerly await- 
ing their expected guests, with their wonderful clock — 
its huge face, nigh two feet in diameter, covered over 
with a linen cloth, and its ponderous weights (attached 
by short cords only, there being no room for lengthened 



86 THE "clock-house" mystery. 

ones) dangling nearly to the floor of the workroom, and 
its pendulum, six feet in length, describing its segments 
of a circle to the music of its own loud "tick, tick, 
tick." 

In due time arrived, not only Mr. Bateman, the elder, 
and his several friends, but, also, the Rev. Simon Bul- 
lockwash, and the two churchwardens, Gideon Walsh 
and Thomas Mutton, to each and all of whom the worthy 
clock-maker did the honours of the domicile, by inviting 
to a substantial dinner, or rather luncheon, of cold boiled 
beef and strong ale; after which the entire party was 
ushered into the workroom, and the face of the wonder- 
ful clock uncovered after all due ceremony. 

An exact description of this piece of mechanism will 
not be needed, insomuch as in these days of mechanical 
wonders there is scarcely anything which can be wondered 
at, and our worthy clock-maker had only done that 
which any mechanic of education would deem a mere 
trifle, but in the days of which this legend takes cogni- 
zance, a clock that told the day of the week, the week of 
the year, and the age of the moon was no small wonder, 
and it was, therefore, with acclamations of astonish- 
ment that all voices recorded their praise of the cumber- 
some-looking collection of weights, cog-wheels, pullies, 
and cranks, faced by a moderately ill-painted dial plate 
(the work of Donald himself), showing exact likenesses 
of the sun, moon, and stars, according to the artist's best 
ability. 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 87 

Of those who were loudest in the commendations the 
Eev. Simon Bullockwash must be placed foremost. He 
examined the clock with the air of an amateur in mechan- 
ism, conversed over technicalities, commended the exact- 
ness of Ramsay's arithmetical calculations, and displayed 
a much greater knowledge of mechanical matters than 
his host had ever given credit for, thereby winning for 
himself a higher place than he had previously taken in 
the clock- maker's estimation, and concluded his lauda- 
tions by expressing a wish that the parish church of 
Aldershot should have a clock placed in its tower, the 
want of such a thing being a standing reproach to the 
inhabitants. 

This last observation having been coincided in by the two 
churchwardens, who almost always re-echoed the opinion 
of their superior, the party broke up, Mr. Bateman and 
his friends to their home at Farnborough, and the Eev. 
Mr. Bullockwash, with his two boon companions, to their 
haunt at the Greyhound Inn, there to booze away the 
remainder of the day, and possibly the night as well, such 
being their frequent custom. 

The action of this legend must now halt for the space 
of two years, at the end of which time an event took 
place of considerable importance, being no other than the 
death of Mr. Bateman, the elder, which occurred in the 
ordinary course of nature only, but produced important 
results, as time will show. 

Amongst other provisions in the will of Mr. Bate- 



THE 



man, was that of the sum of thirty pounds for a clock 
to be placed in the tower of Aldershot Church. 

Now, there is no doubt that the clock intended was 
the identical one upon which Mr. Bateman' s own son 
was so long employed, and the thirty pounds to be 
given in payment was intended to re-imburse Donald 
Eamsay for the expense he had been put to in construct- 
ing it. But Mr. Bateman had made his own will, 
employing no lawyer, and the consequence was, as 
usual in such cases, that the will was informal upon 
many points; not so much so as to deprive young 
Bateman of his rights, but sufficiently to admit of 
several misconstructions in minor matters ; and in respect 
of the clock, was very indefinite indeed. 

The only matter quite certain was, that the thirty 
pounds to be paid for a clock, was to be paid through 
the office of the two existing churchwardens, and in 
accordance with this provision was so paid by young Mr. 
Bateman, in full expectation that it would be handed 
over to Donald Eamsay in exchange for his clock. 

But in this both Mr. Bateman and Donald Eamsay 
were mistaken, for week after week passed by ; whilst 
hour after hour saw the two churchwardens and the 
Eev. Simon Bullockwash boozing and boozing away 
over their cups of strong wine, and yet stronger spirits, 
at the Greyhound tavern, each particular " booze " 
costing two or three crown pieces; and each crown 
piece being a constituent part of Mr. Bateman's thirty 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE MYSTERY. b\) 

pounds'' legacy, till, after the period of four months, 
not a coin was left of the entire sum; all having been 
expended on liquor, even to the very last fraction ; and 
yet no one had authority to call any one of the three 
delinquents to account — the two churchwardens being 
legally and morally irresponsible — or if partially so, 
only to their superior officer, the Eev. Simon Bullock- 
wash, who was responsible to nobody. 

Matters having arrived at this point, Donald Ram- 
say, in disgust at the ill treatment he had experienced, 
determined on fitting up his famous clock at his own 
place, but finding it necessary to have a greater depth 
of fall for the weights of his machinery than could 
be conveniently arranged within his house, decided, 
after much cogitation, on erecting the clock just as he 
would have erected it in a church tower, namely, with 
its face high up, on the outside of his house, whilst 
an ingenious provision for its ropes and weights was 
made by digging a kind of well, with a drain attached 
to carry off all moisture. 

In order to effect this last provision, he had recourse 
to the son of his housekeeper — an honest youth enough, 
and one of some talents in his way, especially in the 
matter of well-sinking and excavation. This youth, 
therefore, after digging in the sandy soil upon which 
Donald Rainsay's house was built, about six feet down- 
wards — thereby enabling the clock ropes to have a fpof 
of twenty-two feet or more, found it necessary, in o t for 



90 THE 

to carry off all undue moisture, to construct a drain 
of tiles one hundred yards, or nearly so, which drain 
was made terminable at a certain outlet, nigh to which, 
he, himself, had constructed a hut for his own resi- 
dence. 

Donald Ramsay's plan having been satisfactorily 
carried out, his famous clock was at length made 
manifest to such as chose to view it, and in course of 
time gave to his domicile the name of "The Clock 
House/' 

This story must again halt for the space of two years, 
daring which political affairs went on from bad to worse, 
and the administration of all public matters became 
totally unchecked, except where they were interfered 
with by illegal and perversely interested persons. Parson 
Bullockwash and his two worthy colleagues (still in 
office because no one took the trouble to kick them out) 
continued, as usual, to drink all parish proceeds which 
came into their hands ; the roads and lanes in their 
district were all impassable ; the church was left with 
its door unhinged, and it sittings broken down, and an 
unusually wet season had converted almost all the bog- 
land stretching away from Aldershot village to Tarn- 
borough, into a marsh, leaving only such sandy portions 
as were elevated above the rest safe to travel over, 
a Donald Ramsay's house — now generally designated 
cosThe Clock House/' stood upon a patch of sandy soil, 
piece very slightly elevated ; but all between it and 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 91 

Farnborough was either bog-land, or absolutely covered 
with water; and yet there was a road through all, 
formed of stepping stones, small sandy ridges, and, 
here and there, patches of grass through which the 
clockmaker contrived once a week to penetrate, for the 
purpose of visiting his friend Mr. Bateman, on which 
occasions, if it were moonlight, he was sometimes in- 
duced to stop after sunset ; although he never ventured 
to prolong his visit beyond daylight on any other occa- 
sions. He, moreover, always adopted the precaution of 
having a well trimmed lamp lighted in his observatory 
even on moonlit nights, to serve as a sort of beacon ; 
and which was always carefully tended by his house- 
keeper. 

It was on a bright frosty day in January, a.d. 1694, 
that Donald Eanisay, journeying over the marsh to 
visit his friend Mr. Bateman, happened to meet the 
Rev. Simon Bullockwash coming from an opposite 
direction; that some words of altercation passed be- 
tween them, is pretty certain, but are unnecessary to 
be recorded here. All that is accurately known is, that 
the clockmaker, after passing several hours with his 
friend at Farnborough, set forth on his journey home 
by the light of a brilliant moon, somewhat later than 
usual, namely, at six o' clock, saying, "that he should 
pick his way easily enough across the swamp ; the 
ground being a little harder than usual, by reason of 
a frost, and his beacon light specially made ready for 
his housekeeper to light at five o'clock." 



92 THE 

We must now introduce our readers to the parlour, 
or private receiving room of the " Greyhound " tavern, 
where, seated in their accustomed places, were to be 
found the Eev. Simon Bullockwash and his two insepa- 
rable companions, Gideon Walsh and Thomas Mutton. 

The first mentioned of these three — a jovial, red-faced, 
and rotund personage, wearing a wig and long flowing 
bands after the fashion of his day, looked more like a 
farmer than a clergyman, and wore upon his counte- 
nance a strange mixture of low humour with a shrewd 
intelligence ; he also gave signs of being a little the 
worse for liquor, and to complete the unclerical nature 
of his "tout ensemble," smoked a pipe of tobacco, at 
least one clear yard long. 

Gideon Walsh and Thomas Mutton were each and 
both " men after their master's own heart," being, like 
him, bloated although seasoned drunkards, only far 
lower in the intellectual scale, as well as still more 
disreputable in a social point of view ; these two, like 
their master, smoked long pipes. 

The three sat cosily enough beside a large wood fire ; 
the time being seven in the evening, and the drink 
placed before them being strong hot punch. 

" So you met the clockmaker, this morning, crossing 
the marsh ? " said Thomas Mutton, addressing his 
reverend friend. 

"Aye, that I did," replied Parson Bullockwash, 
" and told him a piece of my mind, too, which he will 
scarcely forget." 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 93 

"What didst tell un," spoke Gideon Walsh. 

"Never you mind/' again spoke the Parson — "our 
quarrel is our own — he has no right to call me to ac- 
count whatever he may you ; it was you, not I, who 
received old Bateman's money." 

"But you who counselled us to spend it — and who 
helped to drink it too/ - ' chuckled Thomas Mutton — 

" And who ought to set un a better example/' 
said Gideon Walsh. 

"All three of us are pretty well alike for the mat- 
ter of that/' responded the Parson, " but till we find 
some one qualified to catechize us in the matter, let us 
be merry — ' Dum viviinus, vivamus/ which being trans- 
lated from the Latin of King Solomon, means — 'Let 
us get drunk whilst we can/ so let us have a toast." 

Hereupon the hopeful trio filled their glasses with 
steaming punch, and stood up. 

"Here," shouted the Rev. Simon Bullock wash, "here 
is, may that infernal clockmaker, Donald Ramsay, tum- 
ble into a bog, some day, and get smothered." 

Immediately upon which the three half drunken 
reprobates shouted their delight in an uproarious chorus 
of cheers, — the punch bowl being upset in the excite- 
ment of the moment, and a fresh one speedily called 
for. 

There is no need to detail any more of the conver- 
sation between these worthies, our concern being only 
in its' upshot, which was as follows : — that it would 



94 THE 

be a very pretty piece of innocent fun to take a ladder 
from the inn — visit the clockmaker's house — place the 
ladder outside— open the window, and blow out the 
lamp which served as a beacon, and afterwards to decamp 
as quickly as possible for their several homes. 

Pilled with the humorous and humane idea, the trio 
sallied forth from the inn — but found a change of 
weather had taken place, for the moon, which in the 
early part of the evening was brightly shining, now hid 
herself behind dark clouds, and a thick fog enveloped 
all around, leaving scarce sufficient light for the three 
to pick their way along, especially as a deep hole, full 
of black, stagnant water, interposed between the high 
road and their place of destination. 

Heedless of all obstacles, and more than two-thirds 
drunk, the Eev. Simon Bullockwash, Gideon Walsh, and 
Thomas Mutton, sallied forth on their errand, carrying 
between them a long, strong ladder from the inn- 
yard, and succeeded in reaching the clock-maker's 
house. 

By this time, it wanted only a few minutes to eight 
o'clock ; and, as the beacon-lamp was yet burning, there 
existed no doubt that the clock-maker was still away 
from home. 

With somewhat unsteady hands, the ladder was 
adjusted, the Window opened, and, by the hands of the 
Bev. Simon Bullockwash, was the beacon-lamp — which 
stood on a table quite close to the window — deprived of 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 95 

its Ko'llt : THE LIGHT WHICH WAS TO HAVE LIGHTED THE 

o 

POOR CLOCK-MAKER TO HIS HOME. 

This wicked deed done, the clock struck eight ; and, 
whilst its last vibrations were yet sounding, the three 
conspirators, as they may be justly called, took their 
departure for those homes which two out of the three 
were destined never to reach, for, by the time they had 
succeeded in removing the ladder, all three were so 
overcome by the fumes of liquor, acted on by the cold 
night air, that they were fairly drunk and incapable — 
Thomas Mutton being the only one who succeeded in 
reaching his home : the Eev. Simon Bullockwash and 
his crony, Gideon Walsh, both falling into the deep pool 
before mentioned, and being found there, stone dead, the 
following morning. 

Had the tragedy here ended, poetic justice would have 
been sufficiently done. But it did not here end ; for, 
unfortunately, Donald Ramsay, the worthy clock-maker, 
fell into the very trap which was laid for him, having, 
through the loss of his accustomed beacon, and also 
through the density of the fog which arose from the 
marsh through which he was passing, floundered into a 
deep morass, which occupied a space on the western side 
of what is called "North Town" at the present moment 
— and in that wretched plight must have met his death 
through cold and cramp, for, when found, the upper 
part of his body was still above water, whilst his feet 
and leg's were imbedded in slime. 



96 THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 

Thus ended the " tragedy " of the Clock-House : but 
not so the entire interest of our tale, for there ensued a 
mystery which needs some little preparation before the 
telling. 

On the day following these events, the body of the 
Bev. Simon Bullockwash, as also that of Gideon Walsh, 
were found floating on the surface of the stagnant pool, 
as before told, and, on the following day, that of Donald 
Bamsay. 

Great was the consternation of all the neighbourhood, 
and great the indignation of many, particularly after — 
on the confession of Thomas Mutton — the truth of the 
matter became known. An inquest was held on all 
three of the bodies, which resulted in a verdict of ' ' died 
by misadventure "—the Coroner "reprimanding" Thomas 
Mutton with all due solemnity, and the clergyman of 
" Ash " burying the three bodies with all due formality. 

Now, and not till now, Mr. Bateman, as the only 
friend of the late worthy clock-maker, took upon himself 
to examine the papers of his late friend, in order to 
ascertain if any will was made, or if any other document 
could furnish the information requisite for communicat- 
ing with his relatives. But, amidst the very few papers 
found, nothing bearing upon either point came to light. 
The old housekeeper had never heard him mention the 
name of any relative, and a journey to London failed to 
obtain from the clock-maker's successor in trade any clue 
to a heir-at-law, or any other relative. 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTEltY. 97 

Having done all in Ins power, Mr. Bateman deter- 
mined on shutting up the clock-maker's house very 
securely, and waiting till information through some 
other channel should turn up; he accordingly trans- 
ferred a few necessary articles of use from the house 
itself to the hut built by the clock-maker's occasional 
servant, namely, the son of his old housekeeper, to which 
the woman herself was contented to retire. And, having 
so done, he caused the windows to be boarded up, and 
the door to be safely barricaded in such manner that no 
robber should break in, or mischievous person commit 
damage ; after which, and at the expiration of eight days 
only, the once famous Clock-House was left to its soli- 
tude — a gloomy memorial of the past. 

As a matter of course, Donald Ramsay's famous clock 
had stopped several days before the final locking up of 
his domicile, and the neighbourhood, which had up to 
that time greatly rejoiced in its punctual striking of the 
hours, began to note the loss with regret and lamenta- 
tion, when suddenly, on the evening of the ninth day, 
and whilst the air was cold and calm, the hour of eight 
tolled slowly and distinctly, as of yore, from the shut-up 
Clock-House ! Amazed, and almost doubting his ears, 
the landlord of the u Greyhound " Tavern, now almost 
deserted since the death of its two best customers, rushed 
wildly up towards the direction of the mysterious sound, 
being joined on his way by several other wondering 
parishioners. 'Whether or not they expected the clock 

H 



98 the ""clock-house" mystery. 

to re-strike the hour of eight, is not evident; but certain 
it is that, by the light of the just rising moon, they 
looked up, open-mouthed, at the house itself, seeing, of 
course, nothing but what they had seen a thousand 
times before. Questioning each other, doubting, and 
incredulous of their own senses, they muttered their 
astonishment, talked about ghosts, and ultimately de- 
parted, expressing their joint intention of being on the 
spot the evening of the next day, to hear if the clock 
would again strike. 

It very soon got noised about that something 
mysterious had occurred, and might occur again. ; the old 
woman of the hut was called upon to know if she had 
heard the clock strike, but she, being very deaf, had 
heard nothing of the kind, and had, besides, been in her 
bed sound asleep long before the hour of eight. 

On the night following, even so early as six o'clock, 
and whilst it was yet very dark, — the moon not being 
due till seven, a crowd of some dozen men, women, and 
children, assembled before the mysterious house, expect- 
ing, no one knew exactly what, but with their imagina- 
tions speculating on various possibilities. It was com- 
mented upon, that the hour of eight was precisely the 
hour when, according to Thomas Mutton's confession, 
the beacon light had been put out, and that, consequently, 
that hour might be the identical hour on which the 
honest clock-maker had fallen or stumbled into the quag- 
mire, or even the very moment of his very death. Of 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 99 

course, in event of such being the case, it must be the 
clock -maker's own ghost that tolled the hour of eight. 

After waiting nigh two hours, general expectation 
grew to its height, one female spectator, or rather ex- 
pectant, declared she should faint if the clock really 
should strike the hour ; another declared she should do 
nothing of the sort, but immediately knock at the house 
door, and demand admittance; some of the men declared 
one thing, some another, but all agreed that if the clock 
should strike, it would be a wonderful thing indeed, and 
one to be looked upon as a striking evidence of the 
existence of ghosts. 

At length the hour of eight approached, according to 
the evidence of a watch possessed by the landlord of the 
" Greyhound " tavern, and, lo ! — exactly as its hand was 
upon the expectant hour, there slowly, clearly, and loudly 
boomed the eight distinct sounds of the Clock-house bell, 
exactly as it used to sound when the clock-maker himself 
was alive ! ! ! 

A fact so undeniable and astounding could not fail of 
producing an extraordinary effect upon a superstitious 
audience. The woman who declared " she should knock 
for admittance" was the first to faint away outright with 
terror, whilst she who declared "she should faint" 
thought better of it, and began to mutter a " paternoster " 
(being a Catholic). As for the men, some of them, 
bolder than the rest, went straight away up to the house, 
examined its door-fastenings with their hands, as if ex- 



100 THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 

pecting to find them unlocked, but without result, others, 
awe-stricken, gaped at the dark outline of the house 
itself as it cut harshly against the still cold sky, whilst a 
profound and inexplicable superstition hung over all 
more or less, as each one departed severally home, thence 
to tell the tale of mystery wide-spreading around. 

It was noticed as somewhat singular that Thomas 
Mutton was not amongst those who bore oral testimony 
to this extraordinary fact ; he having declined the invita- 
tion to become one amongst them, but it was afterwards 
ascertained that he too had been a listener, though a 
solitary one, to the solemn tolling of that awful bell; 
also, that he went, afterwards, home, took to his bed, 
and became so exceedingly ill that his friends were obliged 
to call an humble professor of the art of medicine, who 
pronounced his patient "charmed," and under the 
necessity of paying him (the professor aforesaid) the sum 
of two shillings per diem every day, until farther notice, 
in return for pills, potions, and phlebotomy, &c. 

On the day but one following this event, the clock 
striking eight as before in the intermediate time, a 
deputation of villagers, from Aldershot, made its way to. 
the residence of Mr. Bateman, at Parnborough ; but 
were sadly disappointed in finding that gentleman had 
departed on a long pilgrimage to Scotland ; having, at 
length, obtained some clue to the relatives of the deceased 
Donald Ramsay, whom he was most anxious to acquaint 
with the fact of their good fortune in possessing 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 101 

a reversionary interest in the clock-maker's solid 
property. 

As posting, travelling, and post letter carrying were 
all in their infancy one hundred and fifty years ago, it 
was impossible to recall Mr. Bateman, and he was, 
therefore, suffered to progress on his way unchecked; 
but meanwhile the news of some mysterious visitation 
or other continued to spread abroad ; and for some 
weeks afterwards a score or two of idlers were sure to be 
congregated near the now mysterious Clock-house, 
awaiting the moment when its ghostly clock should 
strike the hour of eight, which it never failed to do, up 
to the period of two months from the time of its 
mysterious commencement. 

Political events were occurring of engrossing moment ; 
men's minds were full of the expected crisis, travelling 
was dangerous, and the various sections of society each 
afraid of the other ; but notwithstanding all this, many 
visitors from London found their way to the lonely Clock- 
house, wondering, speculating, and sometimes doubting 
the evidence of their own senses ; but so surely as the 
hour of eight in each evening arrived, so surely did the 
mysterious clock strike its mysterious eight strokes ; and 
yet every eye that scanned and every hand that sought 
the fastenings of that mysterious house, failed to detect 
any flaw in its perfect inviolability. It became clear at 
least, that if any living creature existed within the house, 
he, she, or it must live chameleon-like, on air; for no 



102 THE "CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY. 

provisions of any kind could possibly find entrance, and 
no inhabitant could find egress, without being seen. 

Two months had elapsed, and the newly appointed 
clergyman of Aldershot, a very different sort of individual 
from his predecessor, had begun to entertain serious 
thoughts of seeking forcible entrance to the Clock-house, 
when it was rumoured that Mr. Bateman had returned 
safely from Scotland with an undeniably legal heir to the 
property of the late Donald Eamsay. 

This rumour turning out true, all the inhabitants of 
Aldershot were congregated on an appointed day, when 
it was declared that the Clock-house should be publicly 
opened, and the mystery* of its ghostly tenant solved — 
if solvable. 

Accordingly, at the hour of nine, on the morning of 
March 1697, Mr. Bateman, Mr. Alexander M'Evoy from 
Scotland, the vicar of Aldershot, and a large assemblage 
of tradesmen, farmers, farm-labourers, and artisans, 
together with women and children, found themselves 
congregated before the lonely Clock-house, expecting 
some wonderful revelation. 

Mr. Bateman, who had himself superintended the 
fastenings of the house, gave directions for their being 
removed, and whilst so doing was particular in observing 
that none had been tampered with even in the slightest 
degree. One by one the door barriers were removed, as 
well as the boards from the lower windows ; and it was 
not without trepidation that Mr. Bateman's own hands 



THE "CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY. 103 

turned, not without some difficulty, the large coarsely 
made key in the rusted lock, thereby affording him, and 
his special associates, entrance to the house itself. 

Three persons only made their way inside, namely, 
Mr. Bateman, Mr. M'Evoy, and the vicar of Aldershot, 
first into the half empty lower rooms, where all 
was intact, solitary, and covered with dust, giving 
abundant evidence of having never been violated by 
mortal touch ; thence into the chambers above, where all 
was equally undisturbed ; and lastly, into the upper 
chamber itself, whence was visible the entire works of 
the mysterious clock as motionless and solitary as of old, 
when one of its constructors, now alas ! no longer amongst 
the living, was in the habit of looking upon its mechanism 
with the fond eyes of vanity. 

Apparently all was as it had been left, not a thing 
had been displaced, nor even touched, for the dust of 
more than two months was visible and tangible on every- 
thing within sight. 

This result being communicated to the expectant 
<;rowd outside, by whom the intelligence was received in 
silence, Mr. Bateman and friends descended to the base- 
ment story, determined, after visiting the old housekeeper, 
to watch, personally, on the premises, until the hour of 
that mysterious visitation should come, when the trick, 
if trick it were, should be at once exposed. 

Accordingly, to the hut of the old housekeeper Mr. 
Bateman went, accompanied by his two friends, and a 



104 THE "CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY. 

very long interview ensued during which high words 
were heard, supplications, and even some slight laughter, 
then a long consultation ensued, followed by an equally 
long silence — the crowd outside gradually diminishing 
until it numbered merely a score or so, amongst whom 
was the landlord of the " Greyhound." After an hour, 
Mr, Bateman, Mr. M'Evoy, and the vicar, reissued from 
the hut, and the latter-named gentleman, taking upon 
himself the office of spokesman, acquainted all within 
hearing that the mystery of the Clock-house was at an 
end — that the clock would never more strike — that, in 
fact it would be taken down, packed off and transported, 
together with all the furniture of the house — away, far 
from Aldershot, and the very house itself dismantled or 
even pulled down, seeing that it was built on land that 
did not belong to the builder. As for the ghost, he 
declared that measures had been effectually taken for 
laying it ; that, in fact, it was no longer an inhabitant 
of this world, and would never more trouble anybody. 

The crowd departed, evidently disappointed in the 
result of the day's enquiry. Mr. Bateman and all others 
concerned went back to their homes; but that* same 
evening witnessed another congregation on the same 
spot as before, with the same expectation and the same 
curiosity, awaiting the accustomed striking of the clock, 
in which expectation they were doomed to be dis- 
appointed — for that clock had struck its last stroke — the 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 105 

ghost was clearly laid, and the wonder-seeking crowd had 
no resonrce but to disperse itself home — never more to 
assemble for the same purpose, but ever yet to cling 
with superstitious fear to the memory of that strange 
mystery. 

It was three or four weeks after the .-"laying of the 
ghost," that an event occurred which explained, but not 
to the popular satisfaction, how this strange matter had 
come to pass. The Clock-house being dismantled of its 
contents, and its doors, windows, &c, &c, carted off, 
leaving a mere shell behind, curiosity led many persons 
to examine what remained of the house itself, and 
especially became directed to the dry well, into which the 
heavy weights of the wonderful clock had been arranged 
to fall. As the depth was but six- or seven feet, one or 
two inquisitive lads descended, and whilst groping about, 
found a piece of small rope" projecting from the covered 
drain passage, mentioned in an earlier portion of this 
legend, as made to carry off all moisture detrimental to 
its position. This piece of rope> on being violently 
pulled, broke off to the length of twenty feet, thereby 
proving a continuation of its length somewhere or other. 
General curiosity was aroused, the drain itself was exca- 
vated, and proved to terminate at the hut wherein had 
dwelt the old housekeeper and her son, who had sudden- 
ly disappeared together several days before. A continua- 
tion of the broken rope was found to extend the remain- 



106 THE "CLOCK-HOUSE" MYSTERY. 

der of the way, terminating, as all expected to find it, in 
the hut itself. Surmise instantly connected this artifice 
with the circumstance of mystery which had puzzled so 
many for so long a time. There could, indeed, be little 
doubt that the very ingenious son of the old woman, and 
who had constructed the drain itself, had contrived, for 
motives scarcely clear, to attach the rope now discovered 
to the machinery by which the clock bell was struck, and 
so contrived to mystify an entire neighbourhood. It was 
also surmised that he had confessed the fraud to Mr. 
Bateinan and his two friends, who chose rather to leave 
the mystery unexplained than to hazard a communication 
which might bring mischief upon the old housekeeper, 
who was perfectly innocent of all participation in the 
fraud, and in so doing it is very probable he acted wisely, 
as all experience has gone to prove that the world in 
general is more indignant for being set right, in matters 
of superstition, than it is for being imposed on. 

Thus ended the " Clock-house mystery," one now en- 
tirely forgotten in the neighbourhood of its occurrence, 
and but dimly shadowed forth in a mere name, which yet 
clings — for no apparent reason — to a house of low repute 
in Aldershot town, as also to some private residence in 
the neighbourhood of the Ash-road. 

"What became of Mr. Bateman and the Scotch gentle- 
man Mr. M'Evoy,no record serves to tell. The Greyhound 
tavern yet exists, a well-built private mansion occupies 



THE " CLOCK-HOUSE " MYSTERY. 107 

very nearly the precise spot whereon stood the " Clock- 
house/'' and the descendants of Thomas Mntton now 
live somewhere at the east end of London, dealing, we 
believe, in the very article represented by their peculiar 
name. 



ST. HILDA.-A LEGEND OF " THE LADYE- 
HOTJSE." 

" It was a custom, often practised, for girls to be vowed 
to celibacy from their birth, and yet not to compel them to 
take the black veil ; and it was sometimes held sufficient that 
they should keep themselves chaste only, habiting themselves 
in white. Hence the phrase, ' voue au blanc,' or 'vowed to the 
white.'" — T. C. Grattan. 

PREAMBLE. 

In the district of " Upper Hale," some good half mile 
on the road from Hale (proper) towards Crondall, there 
stands a domicile bearing the singular name of " The 
Ladye-House." The building in question is of a most 
unpretentious, not to say vulgar, character, and offers 
no one feature of interest to either the antiquary or 
wayfarer, except that of its singular name, to account for 
which the author of these pages has been at some pains 
and research almost, yet not entirely, in vain. 

It would be a needless occupation of the reader's 
time to recount the many failures encountered amidst 
endeavours to obtain information from the peasants 
and general inhabitants of the neighbourhood, not one 
of whom offered to take the slightest interest in the 
matter, and it was only by the merest chance that one 



ST. HILDA : A LEGEND OF 

small atom of intelligence turned up, whereby a coin- 
cidence of tangible form was discovered to exist between 
( ' The Ladye-House " and Parnham Castle, in the fol- 
lowing particular, which, after all, is but a mere 
rumour. 

On digging for a cesspit, many, many years ago, in a 
portion of the garden land attached to the house in 
question, there was discovered a few corner blocks of 
masonry, which had evidently formed the angle of some 
foundation wall of very ancient build. On a further 
examination it was found that the stone of which it was 
constructed was of character identical with that of the 
" old keep " at Parnham Castle. 

Unfortunately there is no record extant as to what 
became of this piece of masonry, whether it was broken 
up, or whether it even yet remains buried in the earth, 
but the inference to be thence drawn is, that a building 
of some especially solid kind once existed on that par- 
ticular spot, and one which, very probably, might have 
given rise to the peculiar name which now attaches. At 
all events, a very singular legend connected with the 
early days of Farnham Castle, has suggested the following 
possible solution of a mystery which appears, otherwise, 
to be unfathomable. 

The reader will, therefore, please to accept the 
annexed apocryphal legend for what it is worth: — 



110 ST. HILDA: 



THE LEGEND. 



When Henry of Blois, brother to King Stephen, a 
titular bishop as well as an actual prince, had succeeded 
in building for himself the Castle of Earnham, which he 
did at remarkably small expense, seeing that he " appro- 
priated " the stone from the estate of a neighbouring 
landowner, and "pressed" every able-bodied vassal 
into his service, as labourers, for love of the Church, 
he is said to have been called away to France on, what 
is now termed, in military phrase, "urgent private 
affairs " ; being indeed no other than the necessity of 
doing battle for his territorial rights, which, just then, 
were in some jeopardy. 

Of course, it need scarcely be told that very many 
bishops in those remote days wore more of the breast- 
plate than the sacerdotal robe, and more naturally in- 
clined to the sword than to the crozier. Henry of 
Blois was not only of such particular mind, but was, 
perhaps, the most warlike of all his brethren, being an 
able leader in the field, and a knight of much prowess, 
as evinced by his having become victor in no less than 
eight single combats. 

Now Henry de Blois, bishop and warrior, being called 
away on foreign service, just as he had finished his 
beautiful and convenient palatial residence, was sadly at 
a loss to find some trustworthy soldier and friend to 
whom he might entrust the safety of his castle during 



A LEGEND OF "THE LADYE-HOUSE." Ill 

his absence abroad. As for the brave knights of his 
retinue, he wanted them all for service in the field, he 
could not spare even one, but ultimately bethought him 
of a friend whose peculiar intimacy with himself was of 
a kind which must be recorded, in order to justify 
events. 

At the period of this tale, a vast but justifiable ani- 
mosity existed between all individuals of the Anglo- 
Saxon race and those of their Norman conquerors. 
Hastings and its bitter memories rankled in the hearts 
of all owning British blood, and led to innumerable 
deeds of cruelty as well as gross injustice. It had hap- 
pened that in one of these bitter broils, which were of 
almost daily occurrence between the two factions of 
Anglo-Saxons and Anglo-Normans, that an impov- 
erished Thane, named Englebert, having been overcome 
in a skirmish by one of the most powerful Norman 
knights, had had his sword arm barbarously out off by 
his enemy, who, not satisfied with the infliction of this 
terrible vengeance, was about to have cut off the other 
arm likewise, when Henry, the bishop-prince, touched, 
possibly, with a tinge of Christian mercy, not only pre- 
vented such further outrage, but absolutely caused the 
poor Thane to be carried to his newly — or then only 
partly — erected castle of Parnham, and attended by a 
very learned leech, by whom he was as sufficiently 
restored to health as the knowledge of those days per- 
mitted. 



112 ST. HILDA: 

This incident — the best which is recorded of the 
valiant bishop — was the means of cementing a somewhat 
unusual friendship between the two representatives of 
rival races. Thane Englebert, together with his wife 
and infant daughter, became residents in the calfle of 
Parnham, and it was to no other than the Thane himself 
that Henry of Blois determined on entrusting the 
safety of his stronghold. 

Our story will now dispense with all farther particular 
reference to Henry of Blois, and go on to narrate only 
♦ such incidents as pertain to its own development. 

Thane Englebert and his lady had been married for 
twenty long years without offspring, and the time had 
K nearly arrived when, according to the order of nature, 

none might be expected; about this time, according 
to the custom of those rude days in which they lived, 
both husband and wife determined to offer up their joint 
prayers to the Giver of all good, holding forth, as a 
'j sort of bribe to the Almighty, a promise or vow to 

dedicate such gift as might be vouchsafed them, to the 
service of . heaven itself. In other words, they prayed 
for a child, and whether male or female, solemnly swore 
to make the desired child either monk or nun, as the 
case might be. 

Curiously enough their prayer was heard, or at least 
their wish was granted, for in due course of time there 
was born to them a lovely female child, which was bap- 
tized in the name of Hilda, after the Thane's own 



A LEGEND OF " THE LADYE-HOTJSE." 113 

mother, and grew up, to the age of ten years, a perfect 
prodigy of loveliness, virtue, and good temper. 

It was about this time, or indeed seven years after the 
period of Englebertfs domiciliation in Parnham Castle, 
that a marked change came over the disposition of little 
Hilda — and here, it must be observed, that " gover- 
nesses" being scarce in those days, the education of 
pretty Miss Englebert had been most carefully — left 
alone by her mother, and would have been left alone 
entirely but for the kind interposition of a sort of 
chaplain, or resident priest, whom the prince-bishop 
thought an indispensable adjunct to the reasonably 
small chapel which his position rendered necessary as a 
portion of his residence. 

This chaplain, or priest, had heard of the vow made by 
Hilda's parents, and judging that'a young lady dedi- 
cated to the service of God ought to be able to read her 
breviary, not only took upon himself, without call, to 
instruct the young lady in the rudiments of Latin, but 
also lost no opportunity of informing her that she was 
predestined to celibacy, and must then and for ever con- 
sider herself as bound to carry out the intention of her 
parents, as vowed before her birth. 

In accordance with the instructions of her tutor, the 
little Hilda evinced every disposition to become a nun — 
she threw aside all childish games and notions, became, 
all at once, a staid, demure little creature, and insisted, 



114 ST. HILDA! 

like Mr. Wilkie Collinses famous heroine, upon wearing 
nothing but white. 

If mamma Englebert, in the pride of her heart, pre- 
sented the little lady with a beautiful pink frock, trimmed 
with silver or gold lace, and even took the trouble of 
arraying her in it, the little minx would go straightway 
up into the nursery, disrobe herself of the obnoxious 
garment, and in lieu thereof display, outwardly, a por- 
tion of white attire which need not be otherwise men- 
tioned than as intended to be worn inwardly next her 
skin. 

She also, about this time, evinced a most remarkable 
amount of self-will, verging, we are afraid, upon 
obstinacy; and although she failed not in love or 
obedience to her parents, whom she loved most tenderly, 
it was yet apparent that whenever and wherever she had 
made up her mind to any one matter, she pertinaciously 
clung to her opinion, and would never suffer herself to 
be moved by any argument. Her " yes " was yes, and 
her " no " was no ; " dictum et factum" was the elegant 
eulogium passed by her priest-tutor upon this said quality 
of mind, which seemed to meet his approval, and upon 
this principle will be found to turn those after events of 
her life which have made her name remarkable. 

And now, before going further, it is the chronicler's 
sad task to record a melancholy instance of bad faith on 
the part of Miss Hilda's parents. "When Englebert and 
his lady wife made their joint vow to heaven, it was their 



THE LADYE-HOTJSE." 115 

intention to have kept that vow, and indeed very rare 
are the instances wherein snch vows were ever broken — 
the church almost invariably visiting such defaulters 
with the severest penalties known to its law ; but never- 
theless such vows were occasionally broken — sometimes 
by individuals of high station and great wealth, their 
delinquency being covered by ample donations to the 
church, and occasionally by individuals of lesser note 
simply by virtue of their insignificance and poverty. 
But Thane Englebert was neither very insignificant nor 
very poor, two facts which greatly aggravated his crime 
in the eyes of the one solitary priest who formed the 
" staff " of Bishop Henry's ecclesiastic establishment at 
Parnham Castle. 

Nevertheless, and despite all possible contingencies, 
Englebert, his lady wife, and their little lady daughter, 
contrived to pass six inharmonious years without arriving 
at any climax. The little lady rigorously conformed to 
all the usances of ceremonial laid down to her by her 
spiritual adviser — she would dress in white, she would 
fast and pray, it was even said that she flagellated her 
own snowy shoulders once with a knotted flaxen cord, 
in humble imitation of her preceptor, whose back and 
shoulders were declared, by himself, to be one mass of 
weals and blotches, an assumed fact, the truth of which 
is wanting. 

During this time the Thane himself, but slightly 
pricked in conscience, and having become sadly inat- 



116 ST. HILDA: 

tentive to his religious duties,, took pains to find a 
becoming husband for his daughter, now approaching 
the marriageable age of sixteen years. His choice fell 
upon a stalwart Breton Knight, of good extraction, and 
some martial fame; but one totally in want of those 
personal attractions which go far towards winning the 
female heart. His name was Bras-de-fer, and a much 
uglier fellow, or a more uncourtly soldier, never donned 
morion or couched a lance. 

He was, however, high in favour with the bishop, then 
as usual away in France, and was greatly enamoured 
with the beauty of Miss Hilda herself, whose visible 
loathing of his company served but as a whet to the 
appetite of his unholy love. 

The matter of a marriage between Bras-de-fer and 
Miss Hilda having been satisfactorily arranged and 
decided on by three out of the four personages most 
concerned, it was determined that scant ceremony should 
be used in compelling our young heroine to fulfil the 
wishes of her parents ; but herein they did not calculate 
upon the force of will which they had to encounter in 
the disposition of the young lady in question ; who, on 
being told that she must marry Bras-de-fer, replied by 
stamping her pretty foot violently upon the ground, and 
uttering the monosyllable " no, no, no," in a manner so 
decisive, that there could be no possible doubt about the 
fact, and that the "no" she said was the "no" she 
meant, unequivocally as well as irrevocably. 



A LEGEND OF "THE LADYE-HOUSE/ V 117 

Long and stormy were the debates which ensued 
between parents and child ; little Hilda, now grown np 
beyond the stature, and past the age of being treated as 
a mere child, though yielding perfect obedience to her 
parents in all other than the one command which would 
have had her break the vow made at her birth, yet 
showed herself so immovably resolute upon this occasion, 
that it was deemed expedient by the Thane and his lady 
to have recourse to some strong measure, in order to 
force that obedience which they found themselves unable 
to obtain by the weak agency of mere words. 

Accordingly, after tasking their wits to the utmost, 
they at length arrived at a determination to imprison 
their daughter in a remote chamber of the castle, and 
starve her into compliance with their wish ; a determina- 
tion which was no sooner arrived at than communicated 
to the young lady herself. 

Here was an unpleasant predicament for a young 
virgin of sixteen, whose one single crime was an aversion 
to matrimony ! 

Faithful to her principles, and to her convictions, 
Miss Hilda determined to endure every privation rather 
than violate her own mental vow; and equally determined 
to maintain their own resolutions were the Thane and 
his lady. Consequently the very next day saw our 
young heroine closely imprisoned in the highest chamber 
of Farnham Castle — most probably that of the old keep, 
which then numbered some four stories, and which was 



118 ST. HILDA: 

an apartment of very scanty accommodation, seeing that it 
contained absolutely no furniture whatsoever excepting 
a few rushes strewed upon its floor, an apology for a 
bed, and one rough three-legged stool, minus even the 
decency of a covering. 

In common with all such structures, the chamber in 
which our heroine was imprisoned, had a loophole on 
each side of its doorway, and it was, therefore, easy 
enough for persons stationed outside to observe all that 
might transpire within. This being the case, Thane 
Englebert and his lady wife stationed themselves upon 
the stone staircase, at much personal inconvenience, in 
the hope of seeing their child succumb to the powerful 
argument they were endeavouring to maintain; but in 
this they were signally disappointed, for no sooner did 
the pangs of hunger begin to manifest themselves, than 
Miss Hilda, already on her knees, in prayer to heaven, 
beheld three beautiful turtle doves perched up on the 
stone lattice which did duty for a window — bearing in 
their beaks a sufficient quantity of beautiful ripe cherries 
and fresh plucked strawberries, to form a most delicious 
meal, the like of which, for luxurious enjoyment, had 
never before touched mortal lips. On the evening of 
that same day, three more birds of the same tribe, equally 
well laden, made their appearance, followed by three 
linnets, who carolled an evening song, for her delecta- 
tion, more beautiful and musical than anything she had 
before heard, lulling her to sleep in an ecstasy of delight 
that resulted in dreams of heaven itself. 



A LEGEND OE "THE LAE-YE-HOUSE." 119 

On the day following, the same miracle arrived, 
giviog Thane Englebert and his lady wife fully to un- 
derstand that a Power superior to their own ruled over 
the destinies of their child. But half credulous, the 
strongly minded pair decided on yet another mode of 
annoyance to their fair child. They determined on 
stripping her of all garments, leaving her a prey to 
all the winds of the earth, which just then blew hurri- 
canes enough to melt the heart of a poor-law guardian 
(not that poor-law guardians were then invented, 
although we have reason to believe that such monstro- 
sities followed rapidly on the invention of gunpowder) : no 
sooner was this thought decided on, than it was put 
into practice ; the Thane's lady, herself, stripping from 
her child's body every vestige of raiment, leaving the 
fair maiden to conceal her condition, as best she might, 
amidst the rushes of her miserable bed. 

But no sooner had the mother left her child, to hold 
confab with the male partner of her iniquity, who, 
despite his reasonably warm leather jerkin and overcoat 
of sheep-skin, sat shivering upon the stone staircase, 
than some half-a-dozen magpies were seen making 
their way through the air, carrying between them a 
tapestried garment of the richest possible material, 
beautiful to look upon, and luxurious to wear, being 
lined with the finest of wool, and bearing on its exterior 
side a golden threaded pattern worthy of royalty itself. 
This garment, the pied chatterboxes, who had doubt- 
less stolen it from the wardrobe of a princess, lost no 



120 ST. HILDA: 

time in thrusting in between the bars of the windows, 
by means of their united strength and ingenuity ; 
talking all the time, after their own peculiar way, in 
evident enjoyment of the having done a good action — 
as indeed they had. 

When the Thane and his lady observed this new 
manifestation of a Power superior to their own, they 
well-nigh went frantic with rage and disappointment, 
but not yet acknowledging the full force of that In- 
visible Power, which was in very truth the Power of 
heaven, they decided on yet one other combat with 
fate, and in accordance with this determination went, 
both of them, into the tower chamber of their child, 
and removing from under her the entire mass of rushes, 
forming her bed, left the unfortunate Hilda to take 
what repose she might upon the bare and damp stone 
flooring of her desolate chamber. 

But herein, once more, and for the last time, they 
were disappointed; for no sooner had they left the 
apartment than, late as it was, at eventide, whole legions 
of small birds, consisting of sparrows, linnets, robin 
red-breasts, and fieldfares, made their way through the 
window casement, each bearing in its beak a particle 
of feathery moss, soft as eider-down, and fragrant as 
the breath of flowers, which, being deposited on the 
stone floor in thousands upon thousands of tiny layers, 
quickly assumed the appearance of a couch more luxu- 
riant than had ever before been known, and one which 



THE LADYE-HOUSE.'" 121 

afforded the awe-stricken maiden not only a delightful 
night's repose, but also a clear conviction that Heaven 
itself approved of the course she was taking, and would 
continue to support her under whatever trials and 
temptation might in future beset her. 

After this third evidence of their incapacity to bring 
their daughter into their own way of thinking, the 
Thane and his lady gave up all further attempts — at 
least for the time being, and, at once liberating our 
heroine from her confinement, suffered her to take again 
her place in the household; to hear the exhortations 
of their chaplain, and to wear whatever she pleased, 
even her own favourite white, and beyond this, counselled 
their protege Bras-de-fer, to restrain his attentions within 
becoming bounds, on pain of being utterly discarded. 

For a time, all things went well with Miss Hilda ; 
she progressed wonderfully in her studies, — learned her 
" Propria quae maribus," we beg pardon, and her " ave 
maria," and " pater noster/' with extreme avidity ; 
was soon able to copy and transcribe some of the 
characters in an illuminated missal, — and had even 
begun to learn some of the routine exercises necessary 
to qualify her for a novitiate, when her cruel parents, 
bent upon once more testing her faith, and promoting 
their own base ends, devised a scheme so utterly 
revolting and wickedly impious, that the pen of a 
chronicler is reluctant, even in the extreme, to record 
its unnatural development. 



122 



ST. HILDA: 



Determined to test their daughter's faith to the very 
uttermost stretch, the Thane and his wife hit upon the 
following experiment. They caused the chapel of Farn- 
ham Castle to be decked out in fashion for a bridal, 
its altar to be festooned with flowers, its walls to be 
hung with tapestry, borrowed from the Bishop's own 
" Sanctum sanctorum/' its pavement to be strewn with 
rushes, and even went so far as to make a new em- 
broidered petticoat, for an image of the virgin, out of 
one of her ladyship's old robes, in order to render the 
scene impressive; which done, and all matters being 
duly prepared, they caused their daughter to be brought 
as far as the altar rails, where, to her astonishment 
and dismay, she found Bras-de-fer, arrayed in all his 
finery, a priest who was utterly unknown to her, and 
her father the Thane, together with her mother, both 
decked out in their holiday suits, as for an occasion of 
importance. 

Startled by surprise, and overcome by presentiment, 
she held back from approaching the sacred fane, but was 
speedily prevented from retreating, by the advance of 
both parents, who, after forcibly leading her to the altar, 
at once made known to her that unless she immediately, 
both there and then, suffered herself to be united in the 
bonds of matrimony to Bras-de-fer (whose natural 
ugliness appeared to ten-fold disadvantage in his bride- 
groom's attire) they, her parents, would, before her very 
eyes, plunge two daggers into their own hearts, and 



A LEGEND OF "THE LADYE-HOUSE." 123 

leave her an orphan, at the mercy of all the world; 
in evidence of which, and in support of which most 
outrageous declaration, the pair displayed a couple of 
highly polished poignards, of Italian workmanship, both 
long enough and sharp enough to carry out the some- 
what bombastic threats of those who held them. 

Bewildered with the suddenness of her misfortune, 
staggered by the threat of her parents, and utterly at 
a loss to find any way out of her difficulties, poor Hilda 
threw herself upon her knees, and lifted up her eyes to 
Heaven more in agony than in prayer, and more in 
desolation than either — she wept, groaned, cried, but 
all in vain ; she uprose from her kneeling position, 
threw herself at the feet of her parents, petitioned, 
prayed, nay, almost raved herself into fits with agony 
of intercession, but all uselessly — the Thane was immov- 
able; her mother, without one tinge of compassion, 
and her would-be lover, without one spark of manly 
generosity in his wicked looking eyes. She saw, too, 
the bright blades of the two daggers which her parents 
somewhat ostentatiously displayed in their left hands 
(the Thane, be it remembered, had lost his right arm), 
and her tender nature shrunk from the horrible possi- 
bility which might follow the course of action that 
her own heart dictated in accordance with its already 
recorded vow. 

Where was her friend and instructor the priest? 
why was another, and a stranger at the altar where he 



124 ST. HILDA: 

so long had ministered ? The thought instantly arres- 
ted her mind, and saved her from utter prostration; 
with a bound she started up, with a glance of her 
eye she searched surrounding space, and with the 
quickness of lightning she detected high over head, 
but almost entirely concealed by the tracing of a small 
window, the face of her friend and instructor ; that he 
had been forcibly kept away was evident, and that he 
had broken from his durance was more than probable ; 
with a cry of joy she besought him to descend, but 
a gesture on his part at once told the impossibility of 
so doing, and imposed silence on herself. She accep- 
ted both, for the gestnre was that of a hand pointing 
to Heaven, and the injunction of silence was in accor- 
dance with her own heart. 

Silently, therefore, and in an attitude of passive faith, 
did Hilda withdraw herself from the feet of her parents, 
and standing up boldly, yet meekly, await the further 
course of events. 

Mistaking her passiveness for resignation, the priest 
commenced the marriage service, and had proceeded so 
far as to put the usual question authorized by the 
ritual — which question, answered in the affirmative by 
Bras-de-fer, was next in rotation put to our heroine, with 
the full expectation of being likewise answered in the 
affirmative, when silence ensued. " Wilt thou take this 
man for thy wedded husband ? " thundered forth the 
priest. But yet no answer. 



A LEGEND OE f: THE LADYE-HOUSE."" 125 

Hereupon the Thane and his lady both raised their 
daggers in an attitude suitable for striking. The priest 
for the third time,, gave utterance to the words, " Wilt 
thou take this man for thy wedded husband ? " Poor 
Hilda lifted up her eyes, she saw her parents with deter- 
mined faces and determined hands, ready, as she firmly 
believed, to immolate themselves, and nature almost 
conquered ; but again she turned her glance towards the 
spot where even yet appeared the face of her spiritual 
friend, and a somewhat in his look, an expression of 
hope, faith, and reliance, united in one, served to fill her 
heart with a holy trust that would not be swayed by any 
earthly consideration. 

For the fourth and last time, the priest thundered out 
those awful words which were destined to form the 
crisis of her fate. u Wilt thou take this man for thy 
wedded husband? " A pause of few instants only now 
ensued, when with a voice choked by emotion, but yet 
sufficiently distinct to be plainly heard, Hilda spoke the 
fatal monosyllable, "No!" 

A wild shriek followed — or a horrible yell, rather. 
Our heroine clasped her hands over her face, she felt as if 
turning to stone, but expressions of amazement being 
uttered in the voices of her parents — whom she supposed 
to be dead — caused a revulsion of feeling under which 
she became instantly aware that a catastrophe had ensued 
of a nature differing from what might have been anti- 
cipated. And so there had. Tor lo ! on the utterance 



126 ST. HILDA: 

of that fatal monosyllable which was to have become the 
death-warrant of the Thane and his wife, a miracle had 
ensued, for the two daggers which were directed towards 
the hearts of Englebert and his lady, flew suddenly and 
by their own accord, away from the breasts intended, 
and plunged themselves simultaneously in the heart of 
Bras-de-fer, who fell dead, with a yell of anguish ; and 
so ended the troubles of his intended wife. 

It need hardly now be told, that with such manifes- 
tations of the will of Heaven before their eyes, Hilda's 
parents no longer opposed her wish to become dedicated 
to the service of God. They forthwith reconciled them 
to the thought, and even favoured it after their own 
peculiar fashion, by giving their child the control of 
all their worldly possessions to dispose of in charity. 

It needs now only to be told that Thane Englebert 
and his lady, dying very shortly after these events, left 
Hilda at liberty to do exactly as she pleased, and this is 
what she pleased to do. Not altogether choosing the 
restraint of a convent, and being possessed of some 
original ideas of her own, she caused a substantial house 
or tower to be erected on a spot chosen by herself, and 
within about a mile of Earnham Castle, in the parish of 
" Hale/'' where she led the life of a kind of a female her- 
mit, living entirely by herself, dressing entirely in white, 
passing her time in prayer and deeds of charity, whereby 
she became a sort of saint on earth, worshipped by all the 
poor of the locality, and respected by all the rich, even 



A LEGEND OF "THE LADYE-HOUSE."" 127 

by those thorough scoundrels, the "knights of old," 
who, when they passed by the " Ladye-House," as her 
domicile was called, bowed low their plumed heads, and 
dipped their lance's pennon, in all reverence for a virtue 
that was as much beyond their understanding as it was 
above their reach. 

It is not recorded when, or under what circumstances, 
this estimable lady died, but the odour of her good 
works lives after her, and if she was not actually canon- 
ized, all we can say is, that she ought so to have been — 
and thus concludes our legend. 



"GENTLEMAN JOHN:" A MYSTERY OF THE 
CAMP. 

CHAPTER I. 

" There is no curb for passion like a strong will." 

Rev. Dr. Collyer. 

During the spring of the year 1859,, when the gallant 
"201st" were quartered in the North Camp, Alder- 
shot, a sergeant, whom we will call by the convenient 
name of " Smith," was sauntering leisurely down 
towards the south camp, and had already crossed over 
the pontoon bridge, when his attention was called, by a 
comrade, to the uncommonly fine, indeed noble propor- 
tions of a young man who walked a little in advance. 

The object of their attention stood over six feet high, 
his shoulders were uncommonly broad, his waist — for a 
male — particularly small, and the muscles of his legs 
plainly visible through their loosely-fitting encasements, 
— his whole figure denoting strength and activity beyond 
the usual average. 

The dress of this young man was singular in the 
highest degree, being of the material and colour gener- 
ally known as " workhouse grey," whilst its make was 

% 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 129 

on a quality with its material, being such, as would have 
made a less striking figure look commonplace and un- 
gainly. 

" A splendid mark for a rifle-ball/" suggested Ser- 
geant Smith to his comrade (a Corporal of the military 
train) . 

'" Aye ; I wonder if his face will bear inspection as 
well as his back/' replied the Corporal. 

Just at that moment the young man turned his head, 
for one instant only — but that one instant was sufficient 
for his two admirers to pronounce it fully equal to their 
expectations, being of that rare stamp which impresses 
itself indelibly on the mind, like the beauty of an 
Antinous, or the severity of an Apollo — that of the 
stranger seeming to unite the graces of those two 
immortal personages in one. 

After a few words of comment, Sergeant Smith and 
his acquaintance parted company, the latter to his duties, 
and the former towards the town of Aldershot, whither 
also the stranger youth preceded him. 

It was about half-past five o'clock, and the retreat 
had sounded twenty minutes before, so that, according 
to custom in all garrison towns, there was a strong 
muster of men hurrying towards the various places of 
amusement which abound in the principal thoroughfares ; 
our Sergeant himself, being of the number so inclined, 
and hesitating only as to which place of recreation he 
should direct his steps. 

K 



130 " GENTLEMAN JOHN : " 

Whilst in the act of reading a printed placard in 
one of the shop windows, announcing the " benefit " 
of some noted "professional," Sergeant Smith was 
politely accosted by the stranger he had so greatly 
admired, and asked if he conld spare time for a few 
moments' conversation. 

Somewhat astonished, but not at all displeased, the 
Sergeant replied in the affirmative, adding, that it 
would be best to "turn in somewhere/' to which the 
stranger acceded; and the pair speedily found them- 
selves " vis-a-vis " in the snug parlour of a well-known 
beer house, called the "Irish Harp/' 

After asking the Sergeant what he would take, the 
stranger called for some bottled stout, and proceeded to 
question his companion touching certain particulars, 
as will be shown in the following conversation. 
" You are a Corporal, I believe, in the Line ? " 
" Sergeant, if you please, young gentleman. Do 
you not perceive my three stripes, and sash ? " 
" Ah ! Does that denote a Sergeant ? " 
" I thought all the world knew that ; you can have 
seen or heard very little of military life, or you would 
have known better ; but no offence, no offence." 

" None has been intended, I assure you ; pardon my 
ignorance, which would fain be enlightened. I wish to 
know something of military life, and it is therefore I 
have accosted you. May I be so bold as to ask who is 
the most severe commanding officer in this Camp ? 3> 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 131 

" A strange question, young gentleman, very strange. 
Allow me to reply by demanding why you ask, for it is 
a little out of order for men like myself to canvass 
the quality of our superiors, especially amongst stran- 
gers." 

" Oh ! I did not think of that. You suppose I may 
be drawing you into an improper admission, may be, 
but, if so, you are wrong." 

"And I may have my reasons for what I tell, or 
don't tell." 

"That is true also. It is clear, therefore, that I 
have offended you unwittingly. Pray accept my apolo- 
gies, and I — I — I — will seek my information elsewhere ; 
so good evening, Sergeant." 

Thus saying, the young gentleman rose to depart, 
but Sergeant Smith, feeling that he had expressed him- 
self harshly, checked the young man's departure, by 
resuming the conversation, as follows : — 

" Not so fast, friend, you mistake me, as I, possibly, 
have mistaken you — listen. We, of Her Majesty's 
army, are a class of men bound to speak only with the 
utmost respect of our officers, whatever our private 
opinions may be ; to name any one of them as a severe 
man, might be construed into disrespect, were any 
listener to tell tales, but as we are alone, and as you 
appear to be unversed in such matters, I will answer 
your questions to the best of my ability, so say on." 
" Enough, and thank you ; please, then, to answer 



132 



my first question by telling who is the severest com- 
manding officer in this camp — north or south? The 
camp you belong to, whichever that may be, who is the 
greatest martinet — for that is the word, I believe, in use." 

" Martinet ! aye, that is a word we all understand well 
enough ; aud perhaps I know exactly the man too." 

" Is it your own commander ? "• 

" Perhaps it is." 

« Nay tell me— is it t " 

" Well, then, it is, and it is not." 

" Explain your paradox." 

" Here goes, then. Our regimental Colonel, that is 
to say, Lieut. -Colonel Jones, who is now absent on 
urgent private affairs, is by no means what you call a 
martinet, quite otherwise, being as kind-hearted a gentle- 
man as ever breathed, and rather a lax disciplinarian ; 
but Brevet-Colonel Robinson, who commands the regi- 
ment, and is only Major by right, is a thorough -going 
martinet, or worse — for he is not merely a strict disci- 
plinarian, but has the devil's own temper; forever hold- 
ing a court-martial on some unlucky non.-com., or 
sending his men to the cells for a trifle that the Colonel 
would wink his eye at." 

" Indeed ! and the common soldiers hate him, of 
course?" 

" Hold hard, friend. Common soldiers ! common 
soldiers ! Who may they be, friend ? " 

" Why, the men, of course. I mean those who are 
not like yourself, Sergeant." 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 133 

"See there now — how you civilian folks would degrade 
us military — private soldiers you mean, or privates, 
which you please — only don't call them common/' 

" I beg pardon. But tell me how and in what way is 
Major Eobinson severe ? Supposing a com — I mean a 
private soldier — were to disobey orders, what would he 
do? " 

" No one ever dreams of such a thing as disobeying 
orders — if our Major were to command any of our men 
to e swallow his grandmother? be would have to do it, 
and no mistake/'' 

" Bless my soul, how very ridiculous ! But suppose 
the man had no grandmother, what then ? " 

" He would have to swallow her just the same, for all 
that, if the Major commanded it, or — " 

"Or what?" 

11 If he refused, for the first offence he would have the 
guard-house — for the second, cells — for the third, the 
cat." 

" That will do — I'll enlist under him, if you think he 
would take me into the regiment ? " 

"If he would take you in — catch him refusing a man 
of your inches. But you are joking, youngster ? " 

" Not I, on my soul ; I am as much in earnest as ever 
I was in all my life. So please intercede for me." 

" It will require small intercession if you really mean 
what you say ; but excuse me, young gentleman, I have 
served Her Majesty nigh twenty years, man and boy — 



134 " GENTLEMAN JOHN : " 

I have also known many worthy lads, such as yourself, 
for instance, who have quarrelled with their homes, 
their fathers and mothers, who have enlisted in a moment 
of disappointment, but who have repented long before 
they had learnt the ' goose-step/ and then moved 
heaven and earth to get bought out. Have I hit the 
right nail on the head, eh ? " 

" Partly so — but partly not so. I thank you, Ser- 
geant, for your good-nature, but you mistake your man. 
My mind is made up, and if I join your regiment, no 
living being will ever see me flinch." 

"Not from the enemy, Fll be sworn, but from the 
rough-and-tumble drudgery of the barrack- room — the 
service generally ? " 

" Erom nothing, Sergeant. Never again whilst I breathe 
the breath of life " {and here the young man threw a degree 
of earnest solemnity into his voice and manner which 
startled his listener), — " never, never again will I suffer 
my impetuosity of temper to be surprised or forced into 
collision with any other human being." 

" You seem excited now — but — " 

"Am I? it shall be for the last time. Hark ye, 
Sergeant, nature has given me strong passions, which it 
is my desire to have curbed. Take me into your regi- 
ment, I would serve under orders, the more severe the 
better, the most harsh the best." 

" Then Major Eobinson is the man for you; but take 
my advice yet, sleep on it, take the night to consider in. 



A MYSTERY OP THE CAMP. 135 

If by to- morrow yon are in tlie same mood, come to 
me, Sergeant Smith, No. 2 Company, 201st Kegiment, 
North Camp. But I must go now ; can yon tell me the 
exact time ? " 

Hereupon the young gentleman drew forth a valuable- 
looking gold watch, at the same instant displaying a 
superb diamond ring upon the little finger of his right 
hand, such as none but a rich man could honestly pos- 
sess'; the hand itself being small and white, almost 
like that of a woman. After declaring the time to be 
half past six, the Sergeant took his departure for some 
place of amusement, and the stranger gentleman for his 
hotel ; each occupied with his several thoughts. 



CHAPTER II. 

On the morning following, it was with mixed feelings of 
pleasure and surprise, not altogether unmingled with 
pain, that Sergeant Smith saw his friend of the evening 
previous present himself as a recruit. 

After once more cautioning his young friend against 
precipitancy on finding his mood unchanged, the Ser- 
geant complied with the request made to him ; and all 
preliminaries of inspection, including that of the medical 
department, being satisfactorily passed through, the 
young man was duly enrolled as " Private John Humble 
of Her Majesty's 201st Regiment," in receipt of a mag- 



136 " GENTLEMAN JOHN : " 

nificent income amounting to thirteen pence per diem, 
exclusive of deductions for " kit " — daily rations, extra 
clothing, barrack damages, &c. &c. &c. The balance 
whereof, in support of contingencies, may be set down 
at somewhere about three-pence half-penny. 

It shall not be said that we have any unpatriotic 
intention of " showing up " the life of a soldier by 
entering upon the unsavoury details of barrack-room 
conversations, and of the little pleasantries attendant 
upon sleeping sixteen or eighteen persons within the 
space that common-sense would have allotted to three 
or four only ; nor is it worth while to record the rough 
and senseless custom of practical joking which always 
seeks its victim in a new-comer, in spite of all the 
restraint exercised, or supposed to be exercised, by a non- 
commissioned officer, appointed for that purpose. Pri- 
vate John Humble passed through all these unscathed, 
indeed he scarcely seemed to be conscious of their exis- 
tence, but went through his daily routine of rising at 
gun-fire, issuing from a warm atmosphere across the 
chilly road into a cold " ablution" hut, where he 
" soused " himself in water, rubbed himself on a towel 
coarse as a rasp — recrossed into his sleeping room, 
there to dress for early drill; after an un-luxurious 
breakfast to examine his arms, accoutrements, &c. &c, 
then to parade ; after which, to route marching or field- 
day evolutions, as the case might be, and to return to 
clean arms, dress, &c. &c, to take turn to guard, or 
picket service, to acquire the knowledge necessary for 



A MYSTERY OP THE CAMP. 137 

his daily drill,, to recognize certain little mysteries 
known only to the initiated, to answer the names, roll- 
calls, and, finally, to yield implicit obedience, without a 
look, a word, or a thought of question, to all and every 
command dictated by his superior in grade. 

All of this, Private Humble endured, aye, cheerfully, 
never once giving cause for the slightest reprimand; 
he learnt all he had to learn almost intuitively, he never 
forgot anything once told him, and cheerfully, almost 
lovingly, performed any laborious or disagreeable work, 
such as scrubbing tables, washing floors, carrying coals, 
&c, which could be apportioned to him or even thrust 
on him through the laziness of others ; in short Private 
Humble was the " heavy labourer'''' of his mess, and 
would have been a prime favourite among his com- 
rades, but that he ignored their foul language, their 
blasphemous expressions, and certain of their repulsive 
manners, even to loathing. 

Sergeant Smith, the only man whose conversation 
he might be said to seek; observed, or fancied he ob- 
served, " many a time and oft " that Private Humbled 
face would flush up for a moment or two on receiving 
some imperative command of a trivial nature, and 
would afterwards become of a death-like white, as though 
a mental revolt had been conquered by a still stronger 
mental effort, or possibly by shame at its own weakness, 
and yet instead of avoiding all such positions as involved 
a possibility of caution, Private Humble positively 



138 " GENTLEMAN JOHN : " 

courted them ; seemed to thrust himself forward into 
the very jaws of difficulty as if to afford himself the 
greatest possible chance of being humiliated, and 
seemingly undergoing the punishment of self degra- 
dation with a positive relish. 

As a matter of course these peculiarities in a private 
soldier gave occasion for remark, and at length reached 
the ears of Captain Dash, commanding the company, 
who, with the kind intention of lessening the burden 
of his young recruit, one day called him aside, and 
offered him the grade of Lance Corporal, merely, as he 
observed, that his hands might be saved from those 
contaminating offices which were so opposed to cleanli- 
ness. But Private Humble, to the astonishment of his 
officer, finally, but thankfully refused, saying, " he had 
made up his mind to undergo all the hardness of a 
soldier's lot, and did not even intend to seek those 
immunities which a superior rank would give him.'" 
But at the same time he took the liberty of asking one 
favour ; it was that Captain Dash would take charge of 
his watch and ring — value beyond one hundred pounds, 
as the possession of such articles exposed himself to 
robbery, and his comrades to temptation. 

With a look of deep wonder, and his own secret 
thoughts thereon, Captain Dash accepted Private Hum- 
ble's trust, and feeling that a scrutiny into the young 
man's motives would be the reverse of delicate, dismissed 
him, with something very like an unintentional bow. 



A MYSTEltY OF THE CAMP. 139 

So far, the life of Private Humble had passed on 
without bringing itself into collision with Major, — we 
beg pardon, with Brevet-Colonel Robinson, who, strict 
as he was, in matters of dicipline, usually made his 
complaints known through the adjutant, and not by 
word of mouth; but a very slight occasion gave rise to 
an infraction of his habitual rule. 

Private John Humble happened, one night, to be 
on guard opposite the hut in which Brevet-Colonel 
Robinson was quartered, and, as usual, marched to and 
fro over a well worn beat, after the manner of all his 
predecessors in that eligible department, a complete 
channel having been formed by the hourly, daily, 
weekly, and yearly passage of one single pair of feet, till 
it was as distinctly marked as the bed of a small stream, 
and to stray from which was almost difficult. It was 
about eleven o'clock at night, the moon was at its full, 
and the sky nearly as bright as day. Brevet-Colonel 
Robinson had just left the mess-room and walked with 
that elasticity of step which denotes the attempt of a 
well-bred gentleman to disguise from himself the possible 
fact of his having taken a little too much wine. To hint 
that he was intoxicated would be unjust, he might have 
been slightly elevated, or the sudden change from a warm 
to a cold atmosphere might have had its effect; but 
certainly, the Brevet-Colonel's walk was slightly out of 
the line termed by. Euclid "a right line/' and demon- 
strated as being the most direct course from one given 



140 



point to another ; for it serpentined and swayed, grace- 
fully, of course, and far more after the fashion of Ho- 
garth's " line of beauty," than after that before alluded to. 

On approaching Private Humble, Brevet-Colonel 
Robinson addressed him in a loud voice, asking why he 
did not keep precisely to his own line of beat, instead of 
winding about in that unsoldierly way. To which 
Private Humble, after presenting arms,' and not know- 
ing how to reply without offence, first ventured on a 
" salute," and then marched on his beat as if nothing 
had occurred. 

" Guard, Guard," roared out Brevet-Colonel Robin- 
son, and in a trice, up came a Sergeant's guard, who 
were immediately commanded to place Private Humble 
under arrest. 

" On what charge, Colonel," demanded the Sergeant. 

" Disobedience of orders/'' roared Brevet-Colonel 
Robinson ; after which he stalked on to his quarters, 
and Private Humble was marched off, " in charge " to 
the guard room, somewhat unexpectedly enlightened as 
to the species of discipline sometimes indulged in by 
officers of the strict school. 

On the following day, Brevet-Colonel Robinson, 
whilst examining the charge sheet, was positively 
oblivious of the particular charge laid against Private 
Humble, but not choosing to admit as much before his 
brother officers, ordered Private Humble to be dismissed 
with a reprimand ; he was therefore " reprimanded and 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 141 

dismissed accordingly/"* and was about to return to his 
duty when the Captain of his company, the same who 
had kindly taken charge of his gold watch and diamond 
ring, whispered a few words, and Brevet-Colonel Robin- 
son turned sharply upon John Humble, saying : — 

' ' So you are a fine gentleman in disguise, eh ? " To 
which the young man replied, "I am Private John 
Humble, and nothing more, Colonel.'" 

" Humph/' rejoined Brevet-Colonel Eobinson. 
" That is all you choose to tell, but I'll find you out, 
and if I detect you for a scoundrel " — 

" Scoundrel ! " retorted Private Humble, his face and 
forehead being in a moment of the deepest scarlet, 
" Scoundrel ! " 

But before another word could be uttered, Private 
Humble had fallen down in a fit, and was carried out 
of the guard-room, insensible. 



CHAPTER III. 

On returning to consciousness, Private John Humble's 
first question to the friendly comrade who ministered to 
his recovery, was, "Did I strike him/' to which the 
man replied, " Strike him ! who, the Colonel ? — cer- 
tainly not, certainly not." " Thank God for that/' 
vehemently exclaimed Private Humble; "then I have 
conquered myself at last," with which comfortable 



142 

reflection he passed out to his regular duties with a 
firm step, and proud eye; no remains of his sudden 
indisposition being visible to the puzzled gaze of his 
comrades. Soon after this little incident, one of the 
subaltern officers of the 201st announced his intention 
of exchanging with a gentleman from some other regi- 
ment which was ordered abroad, from a desire to see 
more active service; and very shortly the desired 
change became effected. It should here be observed, 
that with the sole exception of Brevet-Colonel Robinson, 
there was not an officer of Her Majesty's 201st regiment 
who was not popular with his own men in particular, 
and with the regiment in general, all of them being 
gentlemen, not merely by birth, but by education, as 
well as by circumstances. It had never been said of 
them, that they incurred debt beyond their means to 
liquidate, that they annoyed each other, or scandalized 
propriety by becoming the theme of public exposure ; 
they neither gambled nor drank, nor committed any of 
those eccentricities which have made other regiments 
better known than respected, such as " The Shab- 
bies,'' "The Incurables/' &c, &c, but will ever 

be remembered in the vicinity of Aldershot, as the most 
exemplary that ever entered its camp, with the one soli- 
tary exception of its commanding officer " pro tern." 
The gentleman who supplied the vacancy created by 

the retirement of Ensign was announced to the 

company of Captain Dash as Mr Tremain, and when 



A MYSTERY OE THE CAMP. ll<3 

that name was heard for the first time by Private John 
Humble, it was noticed that he gave a sudden start, 
and was, for a considerable period afterwards, lost in 
meditation. What could the new comer be to him ? 
was the question amongst his comrades; and it was 
decided to watch him on parade, when the new officer 
should make his first appearance. This was accordingly 
done, especially by Sergeant Smith, to whom the inci- 
dent had been reported. 

On the day following, this occasion occurred — Mr. 
Tremain took up his position in the company, and al- 
though Private Humble had no means at command for 
disguising his general appearance, it was noted that the 
expression of his countenance was somewhat different 
from usual, seeming more stern, more pale, and with the 
jaw more firmly set. Mr. Tremain passed through the 
ranks, before the ranks, and behind the ranks, but not 
a hint of any kind betrayed any sort of recognition 
either to him or to Humble, and when after several 
passings and repassings, the officer in question took his 
departure with the rest, an appearance of manifest relief 
took the place of deep anxiety in the aspect of Private 
Humble ; but for all this, a notable change still took 
place in his demeanour ; inasmuch as he quite suddenly 
ceased to display certain accomplishments which had 
almost, in spite of himself, previously begun to make 
him talked about. It had been ascertained, by the 
Major's lady, that Private Humble was an accomplished 



144 



pianist ; by his Captain that he was an able mathemati- 
cian ; by the Chaplain that he was a ripe Greek scholar, 
and by the bandmaster that he was a far more learned 
contrapuntist than himself; all of which distinguishing 
peculiarities the young soldier now kept in positive 
abeyance, and would have utterly concealed, but that 
the mischief of their publicity was already made evi- 
dent. 

The singularity of Private Humble' s connection with 
the regiment had long acquired for its hero the soubri- 
quet of te Gentleman John," and was a common theme 
of conversation, not only with the company to which he 
was attached, but throughout the regiment itself. His 
actions were watched; the desire to know who he 
really was, and why he entered upon such a career, 
became stronger and stronger every day; but the 
mystery of his incognito remained intact. 

It became known that he received one single letter 
only, every week, and that always on the Monday 
afternoon, the said letter awaiting his presence at the 
Camp Post Office, and never being delivered to him 
through the ordinary channel; it was surmised, and 
justly so, that the said letter was addressed in a name 
different from that he bore in the regiment, but all 
the ingenuity of his comrades failed to detect its ad- 
dress, and it only remained for them to note that its 
receipt invariably brought with it an accession of 
melancholy to the usually quiet countenance of the 
mysterious young man. 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 145 

It was now the period at which route marching 
ceased, and the routine of field duties began throughout 
all the departments of the camp, when the time ap- 
proached for the solving of this mystery. 

On Monday evening at the officers' mess, the last 
before Easter, and only when the dinner was ended and 
dessert was on the table, a conversation ensued upon 
the subject of insanity, given rise to by some incidental 
circumstance. Now the particular subject of insanity 
was not one especially suited to the mess table, but 
nevertheless, having been once broached, continued to 
arrest attention, when Mr. Tremain observed that he 
had only that very day received a letter wherein it was 
stated that an old and valued friend had suddenly 
recovered, in a very remarkable way, from a terrible visi- 
tation of that kind. He was, of course, asked to relate 
the circumstance, which he did, in something like the 
following strain. 

Sir Arthur Pendragon, a wealthy Cornish Baronet, 
having two motherless children, one son, and one daugh- 
ter, conceived a dislike to the routine of an English Uni- 
versity for his son, and chose to have his education con- 
ducted at the great and deservedly celebrated Marischal 
College, Aberdeen, under very strict superintendence, 
for reasons of his own. These reasons bein^ that the 
lad possessed so violent a disposition as to require an un- 
common degree of curb. 

Young Pendragon was therefore placed under the 



Ii6 " GENTLEMAN JOHN : " 

charge of the Rev. Dr. Anderson, one of the Baronet's 
oldest friends, and was also, in some other sort, com- 
mitted to the medical superintendence of a physician 
equally well known and respected. After passing 
through the curriculum of that celebrated University, 
with the highest honour to himself, and without once 
visiting his paternal home through four long years, young 
Pendragon returned to his father and sister, a prodigy 
of manly beauty and intellectual refinement. 

The advices which Sir Arthur Pendragon received, at 
various times, from his two old friends in Scotland, were 
apparently satisfactory, but it soon became evident 
that the great difference between the state of society 
iu the cold northern city of Aberdeen, and the more 
hot-blooded intercourse of the London world (for it was 
to London the young man came, where his family was 
on a visit), was beginning to act upon his son's constitu- 
tional temperament. 

Accomplished, generous, and habitually courteous in 
all the relations of life, young Pendragon was yet inca- 
pable of bearing contradiction, and would have em- 
broiled himself in many a duel if that wretched institu- 
tion of a by-gone age had been in vogue. As it was 
the Baronet withdrew himself and family to their native 
county of Cornwall with all expedition, hoping to work 
a favourable change in his son's habits by patient expos- 
tulation, and in some measure through the affectionate 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 147 

love of his kind and gentle sister, of whom young Pen- 
dragon was passionately fond. 

In the quiet round of domestic happiness all went 
well with the young man for several weeks. Female 
society, of the most attractive aspect, was provided, 
in the presence of which, habits of self-control were 
imperative, but the restraints thereby entailed were 
chiefly exercised over his in-door life, and seemed to ex- 
tend no further than the threshold of the family man- 
sion; for elsewhere than in the actual presence of his 
sister's coterie, the ungovernable temper of his nature 
burst forth with redoubled violence, and was only 
brought to a climax through the perpetration of a fear- 
ful act, which occurred thus : — 

Sir Arthur Pendragon and his son had occasion to 
accompany their timber bailiff beyond the precincts of the 
park in order to select certain trees for felling, when 
a slight difference of opinion took place between 
father and son ; little things proverbially lead to greater, 
and so was it in the present case. The Baronet waxed 
warm, his son still warmer; the timber bailiff en- 
deavoured to stand between the two, but with the 
usual mischance of peace-makers ; for he only made 
matters worse; at length, in an evil moment of un- 
governable fury, young Pendragon felled his parent to 
the earth, bleeding, insensible, and to all appearance 
dead. 



148 



No sooner was the unpardonable act done,, than the 
young man, appalled, and conscience stricken, would 
have given his right hand to have undone that wicked 
blow, but repentance came too late. 

By the united aid of the timber bailiff and several 
peasants, the unfortunate Baronet was carried to his 
home, there to remain a raving lunatic for many 
months, in spite of the most scientific medical advice, 
or the most affectionate care of his tender daughter, 
and now thoroughly repentant, and remorse-stricken 
son. 

The lapse of a few months rendered the services of 
two keepers from a celebrated asylum indispensable, 
and it was then that young Pendragon, with the full 
force of his crime hanging over his conscience, formed 
some secret determination which resulted in his leaving 
his home, secretly, silently, without leaving any clue to 
his whereabouts, even with his beloved sister. 

Here — one universal look of recognition seemed to 
affect all but the speaker himself. Each gentleman 
regarded his neighbour inquiringly, and Captain Dash, 
in three brief words, spoke the opinion of all, " Private 
John Humble ; " and Private John Humble it proved 
to be, who, in the plenitude of his repentance deter- 
mined to punish his own pride — to submit himself to 
almost penal servitude, to subject himself to a discipline 
the slightest infraction of which would entail heavy 
consequences, or even, possibly, degradation. 



A MYSTERY OF THE CAMP. 149 

All this young Pendragon had dared,, his pride had 
submitted itself to a curb, his passion to a conqueror ; 
for in the one severe mental shock which had ended in a 
fit of subdued rage, his mind had found a better bal- 
ance ; and when he returned to his native home, which 
desirable release was effected through the purchase of 
his discharge, it was with a heart deeply thankful to 
that Providence which not only restored his beloved 
father to reason, but which also directed him to the 
means of ruling himself, his passions and his pride. 

For the rest — Sir Arthur's recovery was only inti- 
mated to young Pendragon in a letter by post — the 
friendly timber bailiff being the writer. Sergeant 
Smith became the envied possessor of the gold watch, 
and Captain Dash was prevailed on to accept the 
souvenir of the diamond ring; whilst on the day of 
his discharge Private Humble was recognized in his 
true character of Mr. Arthur Pendragon, and asked 
to join his brother gentlemen at mess ; an honour 
which was politely but firmly declined, from motives 
of delicacy. 



LILY LADE: A LEGEND OE MOTHER 
LTJDLAM'S CATE. 

PREAMBLE. 

" A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich on forty pounds a-year." 

Goldsmith. 

Having, in another tradition, given an illustration of 
clerical character not exactly to the credit of " the cloth/' 
it is with the very greatest of pleasure that circumstances 
enable the author to afford a counterbalancing example 
of integrity and holy living, combined with simplicity and 
rare self-denial, in that of & gentleman, whom the license 
of literature permits to be placed in the same identical 
position as that occupied by his unworthy opposite. The 
Rev. James Lade, like the Eev. Simon Bullockwash, is 
a portrait drawn from nature, and the times ; but, as the 
reasons which operated in rendering it necessary to con- 
ceal identification in the one case, equally operate in the 
other, it will be useless for the reader to attempt raising 
the veil of mystification that enwraps both. Lily Lade is 
also no creation of the fancy, but a real personage, and 
the chief incidents of her career perfectly true, with the 
substitution of ideal for real names, and the alteration of 
a few dates. 



LILY LADE. 151 



CHAPTER I. 



During the reign of William III., when to the chaos of 
revolutionary entanglement had succeeded a state of 
comparative order, and at the time when native partiali- 
ties led the husband of Mary to import noblemen of his 
own creating from the swampy shores of his own water- 
land, there lived, on his own patrimonial estate, in 
Essex, the high and mighty, Philip Augustus Plantagenet 
Bragge, second Earl and tenth Baron of Knuckledown, 
a peer of the realm, immensely rich, terribly proud, and 
utterly insignificant in his personal exterior, being 
scarcely five feet high in his highest heeled shoes, with a 
voice like a cracked tin trumpet, and an eye that squinted 
so prodigiously, as to give him the appearance of forever 
trying to look into his own left ear. 

In common with very many, whose physical disqualifica- 
tions were obvious, the Earl of Knuckledown, from con- 
stantly believing himself to be the subject of invidious 
remark, consoled himself by an intense admiration of self, 
and indulged in such an exaggerated pride of everything 
belonging to, or even distantly related to his own style 
and dignity, that the ruling passion of his life became 
pride, not merely as the word itself is generally accepted, 
but a kind of pride which swallowed up his every thought, 
hope, and feeling ; a kind of delusion which amounted 
nigh to insanity, and which led him to believe that all 
the rest of the human race were vastly inferior to himself 



152 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OP 

because they were more than five feet high, had voices of 
musical power, and did not squint abominably. 

This eccentric nobleman, who, apart from his absorb- 
ing weakness was not altogether a fool, had been twice 
married ; firstly, to a lady who brought him three children 
— all females — named respectively, Agatha, Blanche, and 
Maude, all of whom were fine, well-grown, and healthy, 
as was their mother, who died at the expiration of ten 
years from her marriage ; secondly, the Earl married a 
young and beautiful Frenchwoman, the daughter of an 
Ambassador, and by her had three children, all boys, 
who, taking after their father, were so extremely the op- 
posite of their three step-sisters as to provoke uncompli- 
mentary comparisons whenever opportunity afforded. 

As a matter almost of course, the Earl idolised his 
three unsightly boys, and cared very little for his three 
beautiful girls; indeed, he would scarcely have cared for 
the latter at all, but that they were a portion of his per- 
sonal dignity, were enrolled at Herald's College as leaves 
of his family tree, and were registered in his big family 
Bible, as having been born, &c, &c, whereby their persons 
became a property to be made the most of in some way or 
other for the credit of his high and mighty name. 

When the death of his first Countess rendered the ele- 
vation of a second necessary, the Earl of Knuckledown 
bethought him that female children, if they were good for 
nothing else, were still available as a means of aggran- 
dizement, matrimonially considered. With this view, 



153 

lie caused his daughters to be educated as would most 
befit them for the elevated positions to which he men- 
tally destined them — a French governess, the selection of 
his French wife, was engaged, and the three young ladies 
were carefully taught everything which fashion brought 
into vogue, to the utter exclusion of all that was truly 
good and really useful, a system which made the two 
youngest daughters all but utterly depraved, and the 
eldest of all, a romantic, thoughtless, but still good- 
hearted young woman, whose knowledge of the world 
was confined to the area of romance literature, such as 
then emanated from the impure French school. 

When Lady Agatha, the eldest of the EarFs daughters, 
had arrived at the age of twenty-one years, Lady Blanche 
at that of eighteen, and Lady Maude at that of nigh 
seventeen, it pleased his Lordship to select for them as 
husbands, a Duke, a Marquis, and a Yiscount, with each 
of whom, severally, he" had made compact, and arranged 
preliminaries ; let, therefore, his horror and consternation 
be described, by whosoever can describe it, when it was 
found that his eldest child, the Lady Agatha Plantaga- 
net Bragge, had positively and indubitably eloped with a 
penniless subaltern officer, in a foot regiment, whose 
name was Lade, whose family were " nobodies/' and 
whose acquaintance with his daughter was of but one 
fortnight's date, accidentally made on the hunting-field. 

The English language is not strong enough to por- 
tray the rage, astonishment, and indignation of the 






154 LILY LADE: A LEGEND OF 

Earl of Knuckledown or that of his Countess ; it would 
therefore be utterly useless to attempt giving even a 
'very faint idea, particularly when it became known that 
the young lady, being full twenty-one years old, could 
not be punished in any way, nor her husband be ren- 
dered amenable to any known law. All that the Earl 
could do was to be revenged to the utmost of his power ; 
for which purpose he, as preliminary to all else, sum- 
moned to his presence the whole household, from his 
Countess, children, and chaplain, down to the lowest 
menial of his kitchen ; and, calling for his big family 
Bible, then and there erased from its record the name 
of his daughter Agatha ; after which he swore a fright- 
ful oath to disown her as his child, never to acknow- 
ledge her or her posterity, never to bestow one farthing 
on her or her husband, and to use his best endeavour to 
bring both to starvation, if such could be compassed 
by any means within his power. 

It would serve no good purpose to relate those 
means which the Earl did take to blight the prospects 
of his discarded child's husband. Though not upon 
particularly friendly terms with King William, whom the 
Earl of Knuckledown looked upon as a mushroom — nay, 
a mere toadstool, compared with himself, yet there were 
ways and means by which a tortuous policy always ena- 
bled a rich man to damage or to ruin a poor man ; and 
of these ways and means the Earl availed himself, where- 
by Ensign Lade, at the expiration of eight months from 






MOTHER LUDLAM's CAVE. 155 

his marriage, found himself mixed up — innocently, but 
still ostensibly — with one of those intrigues amongst the 
Jacobins, which led to his being indicted for high 
treason, and ultimately executed at Flushing, just as 
his young wife was delivered of a female child. 

It is one of those strange incongruities, inexplicable 
to our nature, that the Earl of Knuckledown, who 
could see dishonour and degradation to his nams in 
the alliance of a poor but honest family, should yet 
feel none at the commission of a foul crime, or even at 
the odium resulting therefrom, in the recorded death of 
his son-in-law as a felon; but so it was. The Earl, 
who had fully calculated on the result of his machina- 
tions, heard of the terrible result without a pang, or 
stranger still, even with a degree of relish ; the words 
"executed for high treason," sounding to his mental 
ear almost as a slight increase of dignity, such as 
brought the hated name of "Lade" within legitimate 
reach of his eternal animosity. 

In order that this history may be as little as possible 
disgraced with the doings of the Earl and his family, 
this chapter shall conclude by a very brief outline of 
two or three matters, which will enable the subsequent 
thread of events to progress unbroken. 

The Countess of Knuckledown, together with the 
Ladies Blanche and Maude, so thoroughly identified 
themselves with the Earl's resentment, that they re- 
jected all overtures on the part of Lady Agatha Lade, 



156 LILY lade: a legend of 

refusing to enter upon any communication, and en- 
tirely discarding her from their hearts. The Lady 
Blanche married a Duke, and the Lady Maude a Mar- 
quis, in exact accordance with their father's command ; 
whilst their sickly, undersized brothers grew up in due 
course of childhood, making vast exertions to become 
tall, but never realizing any advance beyond that of the 
smallest possible altitude. 

As to poor Lady Lade, who, on the death of her 
husband, was left in absolute starvation, she was 
enabled, only through the charity of strangers, to em- 
bark on board a fishing vessel, bound for Harwich ; at 
which port she arrived penniless and broken-hearted — 
to die of grief and shame, leaving her fatherless child 
utterly unprovided for. 



CHAPTER II. 

The Reverend James Lade, elder brother and sole 
surviving relative of the late Ensign Lade, was Per- 
petual Curate of Aldershot, and by reason of the 
slenderness of his income, rather than any other cause, 
a solitary bachelor at the age of thirty-five. A very 
learned man was the Rev. James Lade, deep in the 
mysteries of Mathematics, Greek, and Hebrew ; an 
eloquent preacher, an able teacher, humane and chari- 
ble almost to a fault ; a man to be esteemed, to be 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAVE. 157 

reverenced, almost to be worshipped, by his parishioners ; 
a man who, as Oliver Goldsmith has told, was 

" To all the country dear, 
And passing rich on forty pounds a-year." 

For such, indeed, was almost literally the fact, that 
exact sum being precisely what his income would have 
been, had he not taken " private pupils " to increase it, 
and spent one clear half of his entire emolument in 
charitable doings. 

It would but serve to prolong the narrative to 
narrate all the noble deeds of this kind and affectionate 
parish priest, who, so far as human eyes could judge, 
was a perfect specimen of the true Christian pastor, 
unstained by those vices of mock humility and empty 
show of devotion which disfigure so many others of his 
cloth. 

At the particular epoch of which we now write, 
the Rev. James Lade was beginning to feel the solitari- 
ness of his position ; cooped up in a small Parsonage 
House, away from anything like society, in receipt 
of a very slender income, and with but one pupil to 
enliven his daily occupation. In brief, the Eev. gentle- 
man was pondering in his mind the propriety of taking 
unto himself a wife, in the person of a lady who was 
both beautiful and amiable, lacking only that one de- 
sideratum, which, to a man situated like himself, was 
almost indispensable, namely, wealth. 



158 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

The lady of his love was poor, true ; but then, had she 
been rich the Rev. gentleman would have incurred 
the imputation of seeking her for her money alone. 
Now that the lady in question was indubitably poor 
— that is to say, as poor has himself — no such odious 
crime could be laid to his charge. Even as it was, 
would the lady accept him if he proposed ? That was a 
serious question; he had not as yet proposed, and was 
in the deepest depths of cogitation regarding the pro- 
priety of making an offer, when his servant, a staid, 
matronly female, entered his study, presenting a letter 
superscribed in so strange a fashion, that the messenger 
who brought it remained in waiting to know if its delivery 
was correct. 

The letter bore an address as follows : — 

"The Reverend j Laide — Parson Holdershote 
ni London — to be red direcly — in haste." 

The caligraphy of it was abominable, and the place- 
mark was Harwich. Alter turning and twisting the 
letter about, like any less educated person, the Eev. 
gentleman at length opened it, and with the greatest 
difficulty was enabled to decipher the intelligence con- 
tained therein, which was to the effect that a lady, who 
claimed to be his sister-in-law, lay dead at a certain 
hotel, and that her living child, as well as her dead body, 
awaited his immediate attention. 

Horror-struck and dismayed, for he had had no 



MOTHER LUDLAM's CAVE. 159 

previous intimation of his brother's death,, the be- 
wildered clergyman packed up a few clothes, and stocked 
his slender purse with all his available cash, amounting 
to less than ten pounds only and set out forthwith on 
his melancholy pilgrimage to Harwich, where he arrived 
on the day but one following, just in time to look upon 
the face of his dead relative before she was committed 
to a grave but ill fitting for an Earl's daughter. 

The sorrowful task of collecting together such infor- 
mation as was afforded by a few private letters, and his 
late brother's journal, occupied him two days, during 
which time he was seriously puzzled what to do with the 
little waif thrown upon his sole protection by the hand 
of fate — the mode, too, of his brother's death, the 
mysteriousness of all the circumstances attending it, and, 
almost more than all, the poverty of his own means, 
rendered his situation singularly unhappy; what to do 
he knew not, nor whom to seek for advice, much less 
for assistance — his worldly wealth being reduced to 
somewhat less than twenty shillings, after having paid 
the expense of his poor sister-in-law's funeral, and other 
incidental matters. 

To leave the little child in Harwich, under the care of 
some female, was his most prominent idea; but so often 
as it obtruded itself, one look upon the fair, frail, little 
creature, with its dimpled, innocent face, instantly 
banished so cold a thought, and set him longing to clasp 
its tiny shape within his muscular embrace; no, the 



160 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

thought must be dismissed, and for ever. He would 
carry the child with him to London ; submit it, as in 
duty bound, to the care of its maternal grandfather, and 
if rejected, as he had reason to anticipate, he would 
carry it to his own home, fondle it in his own heart, 
dismiss from his mind the half-formed intention of 
matrimony, and rear, up the treasure sent him by heaven 
as a sacred trust which should be its own reward through 
all the remaining years of his life. 

This decision arrived at, his only difficulty was how to 
obtain money, and how to convey his little charge to 
London; as regarded the first difficulty, he could certainly 
have borrowed money had he been at home, but he was 
in a strange place where he was unknown, also, he had a 
great repugnance to borrow at any time : well — he could 
sell something — his watch — true. So the Rev. gentleman, 
having no other resource, did sell his watch, an old- 
fashioned silver time-keeper, much more like a turnip 
than anything else ; and the proceeds of the sale, three 
pounds ten shillings, afforded him all the means he could 
desire; but as regarded the second difficulty, he was 
even yet more embarrassed. There were but two ways 
of reaching London — by sea, or by waggon. By sea 
would be too long and tedious ; by waggon only a trifle 
less so; but it was the preferable of the two. Next 
came the difficulty of attending to the child" s wants 
and nourishment ; here he was clearly at fault. A female 
attendant was indispensable, and his funds would not 



161 



suffice for the payment of one. At length, an unexpected 
piece of good fortune presented itself. The master of a 
sailing vessel, having his wife on board, offered to take 
charge of the infant so far as London, and right joyfully 
did the poor clergyman accept an offer of safe conveyance 
to that place for the sum of forty shillings, inclusive of 
everything needed. 

On arriving in London, a hackney coach, or vehicle 
doing duty for such, quickly took the Rev. James Lade 
and his delicate charge to the residence of the Earl of 
Knuckledown, in Wardour Street, Soho, where, leaving 
his little niece in the care of its nurse, whilst he himself 
should attempt to soften the grandfather's heart, he 
ascended the wide staircase, and found himself face to 
face with the diminutive nobleman, who no sooner 
learned his applicant's mission, than he fell into an insane 
passion of rage, and after commanding his servant to 
" kick " his reverend visitor out, took an awful oath 
before heaven that, " if he ever so much as looked upon 
his daughter Agatha's child, he hoped he might be stricken 



Overwhelmed with horror at the impiety of such 
wickedness, the humbled servant of God took his way 
out of the bad man's presence, descended to his 
inhospitable threshold, and there, shaking the dust from 
his feet, departed, more in sorrow than in anger, yet 
almost glad his mission had failed, only but for the 
manner of its failure. 

M 



162 LILY LADE: A LEGEND OF 

Being yet reduced to great straits for the means of 
reaching Aldershot village, a task in those days much 
more difficult of achieving than now, the poor clergy- 
man, in his horror of borrowing money, was constrained 
to sell his travelling cloak for the means wherewith to 
ensure a place in the Portsmouth waggon ; where, unaided 
by female assistance, and accompanied only by a bottle 
of milk, he continued to minister to the wants of his 
little charge through ten weary hours, and at length 
found his courage and devotion rewarded by entering his 
own cheerful home about nine o'clock on the fifteenth 
day of his departure from its threshold. 

CHAPTER III. 

Geeat indeed was the astonishment of Mrs. Sterne, the 
Rev. James Lade's housekeeper, on perceiving her master 
without his travelling cloak, and with some burthen in 
his arms which looked more like a huge bundle of straw 
than anything else, for the poor parson had been able to 
procure nothing better or more serviceable than that to 
enwrap the outer garments of his treasure ; but greater 
even than her astonishment was the housekeeper's 
admiration, when from the unfolded straw appeared the 
fairy loveliness and warm beauty of the little nestling, as 
radiant and happy in its unconsciousness as if it had 
been the child of an emperor, cradled in ermine and 
swaddled in eider down. 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAVE. 163 

Prom that day forth the hamlet of Alclershot was 
greatly divided as to whether or not its minister would 
become a married man. The ladies, one and all, declared 
that it was impossible he could bring up and educate a 
young niece without proper female assistance and advice, 
whilst the male portion thought he was too circumspect 
a man to introduce a wife whose maternal cares would 
be forestalled. And these latter prophets were in the 
right, for the Rev. gentleman did not take unto himself 
a wife, but by the aid, firstly of his housekeeper, and in 
later times, of a benevolent female friend, did contrive 
to educate his young niece, who, on the day following 
her arrival at the parsonage, was duly christened by the 
name of Lilian, after her paternal grandmother — a name 
which very soon become shortened to "Lily/"' not so 
much for the convenience of familiar use, as because of 
the extreme fairness of its bearer, whose skin was so 
delicately white, and whose form was so graceful and 
fragile, that no comparison, save with the lily of the 
valley, could do justice to its modest and retiring beauty. 

Sixteen years passed over and away. The Rev. James 
Lade, now in his fifty-first year, continued unmarried, not 
so much to the astonishment of his fair parishioners as 
might have been calculated on, for the constant residence 
of his little niece, as she progressed from infancy towards 
womanhood, served the purpose of making his Parsonage 
House a constant source of attraction to female visitors, 
all of whom seemed to think the presence of that one 



164 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

small instance of womankind a sufficient excuse for 
loading the poor parson with, presents of one kind or 
another, whilst " Lily " herself became the pet of every 
one, gentle or simple, rich or poor, old or young; and 
well did the fair creature merit the favours showered upon 
her, for a more affectionate, winning, and artless little 
beauty never stole away people's hearts, or used them 
more tenderly when stolen, than pretty " Lily Lade," the 
parson's orphan niece. 

All that the most affectionate kindness could do, and 
all that the most careful teaching could effect, had served 
to render this young lady a mark for the admiration of 
the neighbourhood, without making her in the slightest 
degree vain of either her accomplishments or her good 
looks. It would seem, indeed, that in outward form as 
well as in mental disposition, she was perfection's self, 
were it not that such an implication would savour of 
insipidity; for where was ever yet seen that mortal 
creature so absolutely perfect, as not to be susceptible of 
much improvement by means of a little — a very little 
flaw ? Lily Lade had one slight drawback in her dis- 
position, if it might be so called, which was as follows. 
Her likings were all towards humility, towards plainness 
of apparel, towards rusticity of ideas. She loved flowers 
more than gems ; a simple muslin dress better than silks 
or satin ; a ramble on foot more dearly than a carriage 
ride, and simple country " talk " infinitely beyond the 
refined conversation of her dear uncle's fashionable 



MOTHEE LTJDLAM's CAVE. 165 

visitors — a peculiarity of so remarkable a kind, con- 
sidering the lordly stock whence she sprung, that it 
excited universal comment. But notwithstanding this 
drawback^ Lily Lade was indisputably the belle of all 
the country round, and might have had her pick and 
choice of all the eligible young gentlemen within a 
certain rank of life, throughout the whole parish, or 
beyond it either. 

During the sixteen years which had elapsed since the 
opening event of this tale, the Rev. James Lade's 
monetary affairs had prospered considerably ; not that 
any increase of stipend had accrued from Church patron- 
age, but by reason of his having taken pupils, at a fair 
rate of remuneration, during the whole of that time, 
several of whom had since made a figure in life, and 
spread the fame of their teacher. It was to the aid 
thus gained that he was enabled to give his darling 
niece the sort of education that had made her an orna- 
ment as well as a treasure in his house, the chief agent 
of this good result having been a very kind widow lady, 
a schoolmate of his mother, who, falling into distressed 
circumstances, had accepted the post of ee gouvernante," 
which she resigned only with her life, just as Lily had 
attained her fifteenth year. 

During, also, this sixteen years, nothing had been 
heard of the Knuckledown family, and so completely 
had the connexion between them and the young heroine 
of this tale been severed, that all recollection of it 



166 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

had nearly passed away. As for Lily herself, the 
subject had never been mentioned to her at all during 
fifteen years, and was only entered upon at the ex- 
piration of that time in order to account for certain 
matters which her ripe understanding rendered neces- 
sary. 

The Rev. James Lade had intended to have given 
his niece but a very brief outline of what had occurred 
within his own knowledge, trusting to the meekness 
of Lily's disposition for her being satisfied with but 
little. He was therefore rather startled when, for the 
first time in his life, he found that young lady's eyes 
kindle, and her bosom heave convulsively, on hearing 
her parents' fate detailed; as also by her somewhat 
imperatively insisting upon every iota of information 
he could give, down to production of her father's diary, 
and a few fragments of letters in the handwriting of 
her mother. He was also greatly pressed to tell the 
exact particulars of his visit to the Earl in London, 
where that wicked oath was sworn — never to look upon 
the face of his daughter's child, on the penalty of blind- 
ness. 

Outwardly, his niece soon regained her equanimity of 
disposition, but inwardly a striking change had taken 
place. She looked upon her grandfather as the actual 
murderer of her parents, and although no one can 
rightly be said to hate a person never actually 
seen, yet Lily Lade, if she did not personally hate the 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAVE. 167 

Earl of Knuckledown, yet looked upon him, mentally, 
as one so despicably odious, and wickedly beyond 
the pale of forgiveness, that she determined no power 
on earth should induce her to claim affinity with him 
under any circumstance that fortune might offer. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Up to the age of sixteen, Lily Lade, although in a 
manner besieged by would-be lovers, never showed the 
slightest preference for any one over another, but 
laughingly turned aside from all, not so much in dislike 
or indifference,, as in a humble contentment with her 
present condition. Being so young, her uncle made no 
comments, rightly thinking there was yet plenty of time 
wherein to choose a protector through life, even in five 
or six years to come, but yet there was a nervous some- 
thing about the prospects of Lily's future life, which 
hung like a cloud about his mental vision, and which 
would not have indisposed him towards the favouring of 
a thoroughly eligible lover for his niece, if fortune 
should think fit to throw one in her way. It was not 
that he felt any misgivings about his own health, or 
reasonable prospect of living over years to come, where- 
in he himself might be her protector ; but if the idea 
could be said to wear any definite form, it seemed as 
though he would have been happier to know that his 
darling might be married " and settled," as the phrase 



168 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

goes, under his own eye, and within his own guardian- 
ship, than to incur the possibility of her becoming torn 
away by some yet unseen agency of her mother's rela- 
tions, far off as seemed any such possibility. 

As yet, Lily had shown no preference. Handsome 
young men, of good family and condition, had presented 
themselves, rich young men had sought opportunities of 
introduction, but their time was not come. Humbler 
suitors had timidly followed in their wake with no better 
success, and one, out of the two private pupils whom 
her uncle admitted into his house, had shown strong 
indications of attachment. He was the son of a Baro- 
net, and would some day or other become immensely 
rich. Lily, whose daily occupations brought her into 
hourly contact with this young gentleman, had shown 
him more deference than she had ever before shown to 
one of the opposite sex, and had raised in his breast 
something akin to hope, greatly to the annoyance of his 
fellow-pupil, the son of a poor physician in the 
neighbourhood, who also had dared to hope, though 
without the same slight reason, as the Baronet's son. 
It was now that an incident occurred which broke the 
monotony of affairs, and led to something more definite 
in their relative positions through life. 

It had been the custom of the Rev. James Lade to 
devote the Monday of every week to out-door recreations, 
combined with the exercise of botanical science, in 



MOTHER LUDLAM's CAVE. 169 

which Lily, as well as his two pupils, were advanced 
students. 

Upon the present occasion, the party of four took 
their way from Aldershot towards a rising ground 
covered with wood, about half a mile east of Parnham, 
and in which place there is situated a very remarkable 
cavern, known to the present day as " Mother Ludlam's 
Cave." A foolish superstition had hedged this place 
with all sorts of terrors for the vulgar, and made it to 
be little visited except by the educated classes, who 
viewed it as a rare natural curiosity, or by professed 
marvel-seekers, who made it the theme of absurd tradi- 
tions. 

This natural cavern, which had probably been the 
resort of robbers in the olden time, contained many 
objects worthy of a botanist's curiosity ; in it grew 
mosses, lichens, and fungi of species somewhat rare, 
whilst in its vicinity grew wild flowers, weeds, and medi- 
cinal plants in great abundance, forming, within a small 
nucleus, a botanical garden every way worthy of exami- 
nation and study by real lovers of nature.* 

* For a detailed account of this remarkable cavern (said to 
be of extraordinary extent), see the local histories of the place, 
some of which relate remarkable stories of it — amongst others, 
that a " duck" placed within the cavern, and prevented egress 
at the Moor Park end, was found to come out at St. Catherine's 
Hill, near Guildford, a distance of ten miles off. This account 
of the duck is most probably what our French neighbours 
call a " CANARD," 



170 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

To this spot then, so favourable for their purpose, 
wended the Eev. James Lade, together with Lily, and 
the two pupils before mentioned, whose names were 
Lionel Fitzgibbon and Walter Harewood. 

After wandering through a portion of Moor Park, then 
in the occupation of Sir William Temple, and select- 
ing a few specimens of rarity, the party betook them- 
selves to. "Mother Ludlam's Cave/'' and set out about 
the more serious business of their day's -labour; several 
hours had elapsed, the cheerful brightness of a June 
sun had made their excursion pleasant in an unusual 
degree, being neither too powerful in its heat, nor leaving 
the shady forest glades too cool for enjoyment ; but by 
the hour of three, a sudden change came over the sky — 
deep, dark, and unfathomable clouds suddenly obscured 
its brightness, and a thunderstorm appeared imminent. 
Our party were beginning to congratulate themselves on 
their good fortune in being possessed of so safe a shelter 
as the cavern, when on looking out, they espied several 
ladies and gentlemen, evidently sight-seers from one of 
the neighbouring seats, advancing rapidly towards the 
same shelter, as if well aware of its locality. Withdraw- 
ing themselves considerably from the cavern's entrance, 
our party sought rather to avoid impertinent collision 
than to secrete themselves from notice; but it was 
evident that the in-comers, whoever they might be, 
considered that they were alone in their place of refuge. 

These new comers soon betrayed their own identity, 



MOTHER LTJDLAM'S CAVE. 171 

by means of their conversation, and proved to be no less 
personages than Sir "William Temple, his far-famed 
secretary Jonathan (afterwards Dean) Swift, several 
ladies of fashion visiting Moor Park, and last, though 
not least, in one sense of the word, the high and mighty 
Earl of Knuckledown himself, then in his sixty-sixth 
year, and smaller, as well as more insignificant, .than, 
ever. 

No sooner did the Eev. James Lade recognise the 
latter personage than he shrunk still further back than, 
before, and those whose eyes had accustomed themselves 
to the dim light of the cavern might have remarked a 
pallor of countenance betokening some inward pang, not 
easily to be kept under subjection. 

Listeniug to a conversation not intended for strange 
ears has ever been considered the act of an ill-bred 
person. Now the two youths Pitzgibbon and Howard,. 
totally unacquainted with the feelings which might have 
actuated their tutor towards violating extreme propriety, 
felt all the awkwardness of their position, and endeavoured 
by sundry means to indicate the fact of their presence, 
merely to prevent the possible suspicion of their being 
deemed eavesdroppers, and not without suecess, for the 
new comers immediately ceased conversing, and Mr. 
Jonathan Swift, who wore no outward mark of being a 
clergyman, commenced questioning the two young 
men as to whether they, likewise, had- been, overtaken by 
the storm. On being told that they and their party 



172 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

were "botanizing," he expressed pleasure at the fact, 
and turning round somewhat briskly, introduced them 
to the notice of Sir "William Temple, the Eari of 
Knuckledown, and their accompanying ladies, during 
which time our poor parson and his niece kept syste- 
matically in the background, the former bearing upon 
his mind an undefined dread of something impending, 
which was not within his power to avoid. 

The storm was now at its height; rain fell in torrents, 
and lightning flashed— not the harmless sheet lightning 
of midsummer heat, but the blue, forked, and vivid flash 
which rends huge trees asunder, and strikes living 
creatures dead on the instant. Each individual within 
the cavern shrunk back, the ladies of Sir William 
Temple's party with much real, and some affected, terror. 
In the commingling of persons thus occurring, it happened 
that the Earl of Knuckledown and the Eev. James Lade 
met together somewhat unceremoniously ; the recognition 
—now that all eyes had become accustomed to the sub- 
dued light— was both mutual and instantaneous, notwith- 
standing the long interval since their first meeting. 
Common politeness necessitated a bow on either side, 
and an accession of courage on the part of our parson, 
as inexplicable to himself as disagreeable to the Earl, 
forced him into making allusions to the past which had 
more discreetly been avoided; there rushed into our 
poor parson's mind an idea that could but Lord 
Knuckledown once look upon the beautiful features 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAVE. 173 

and womanly form of his grandchild, all past feelings 
would become forgotten in the new-born admiration of 
the present ; with this view the Eev. gentleman pressed 
one single requisition on the Earl, he urged him to look 
upon the fair Lilian's face, if only for one single moment, 
and on the Earl's endeavour to repulse him by advancing 
to the front of the cavern, followed him up so closely, 
that in a moment of overpowering rage, the old nobleman 
once more invoked from heaven the curse of blindness 
if ever he sought to look upon his grandchild's face. 

Scarcely were these unnatural words uttered, than one 
vivid flash of lightning illumined the whole cavern, followed 
by a shriek of agony such as nature evokes only from 
the lips of man when a terrible visitation from on high 
speaks through heart and brain together. 

" My eyes, my eyes ! gieat Heaven, my eyes are burn- 
ing/' shrieked the Earl of Knuckledown, and in one 
moment the whole cavern was in commotion. The old ■ 
nobleman had fallen down flat on his face, endeavouring, 
as it were, to quench imaginary flames by rolling himself 
in the dust ; as for the ladies, they one and all, not even 
excepting Lilian, expressed their horror and consternation; 
whilst Sir William Temple, calling to the other gentlemen 
present for their assistance to restrain Lord Knuckle- 
down, issued quickly from the cavern in order to search 
for his carriage and servants, which he knew to be nigh 
at hand. 

Fortunately for all, the carriage was within a few 



174 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OV 

paces, and in a short time his lordship, totally blind, as 
well as nearly insensible, was borne off, attended by his 
commiserating companions, to the mansion of their host 
at Moor Park, where we will leave them all to their 
reflections and sorrows ; merely concluding this chapter 
by adding that from that day thenceforward, the Earl of 
Knuckledown remained totally blind, and although feel- 
ing, within himself, that his visitation was a reprimand 
from on high, continued to hold towards his grandchild 
that degree of unrelenting hate which had characterized 
him from the beginning. 



chapter v. 

It was not until their return home that our parson 
informed his young relative and friends whom it was they 
had been so unfortunate as to encounter, and who had 
been so signally punished in the vanity of his presump- 
tion ; his recital fell deeply on the minds of all, but as 
none could say within their own hearts, that the punish- 
ment of his Lordship was otherwise than in accordance 
with justice, both divine and human, it could scarcely be 
told they sorrowed for his sorrow, although assuredly 
they pitied him, even as men pity a dying malefactor. 

In course of time this incident became, if not forgotten, 
at least not spoken of, and Mother Ludlam's Cavern 
was, by general agreement, avoided in ail their subsequent 
excursions of a botanical character; but from that 



MOTHER LTJDLAM's CAVE. 175 

memorable day one other incident may nave been said to 
claim date, though why exactly from that particular time 
is not quite apparent ; this new incident was no less than 
a growing germ of preference on the part of Lily Lade for 
one of her two "resident"" admirers, as she called them, 
over the other. 

Walter Harewood was the fortunate man upon whom 
Lily began to bestow her smiles, greatly to the chagrin 
of the baronet's son, Lionel Fitzgibb on, who had flattered 
himself that the prospect of future wealth and position 
would have had its weight with the young lady in favour 
of himself ; but herein he was mistaken, as men frequently 
are, when they endeavour to fathom the motives of the 
other sex, for so nicely balanced were, at one time, the 
merits of both suitors, that Lily was compelled to search 
the very depths of her own heart in order to discover 
such little motive cause as might determine her course, 
and found it at last, not in the wealth of the one suitor, 
but in the poverty of the other ; her innate independence 
of mind revolting at the base notion of marrying for 
money, whilst a tinge of romance, coupled with a little 
female obstinacy, united to bring about such feelings as 
enabled Walter Harewood to improve his opportunities, 
which he, on his part, was not slow to do, being a young 
man of acute perceptions as well as sanguine tempera- 
ment. 

A few weeks later, Lionel Fitzgibbon, being called on 
to rejoin his parents at a foreign watering-place, whither 



176 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

they had gone for the benefit of their health, took leave 
of his Bev. tutor, of Lilian, and of Walter Harewood, 
clearly foreseeing the entire destruction of his own hopes, 
but generous enough to forego all vain jealousy, as also 
to feel cordially within his heart those loving wishes for 
the welfare and happiness of all which trembled on his 
lips at parting. 

Prom the period of this young man's departure, 
Walter Harewood and Lily Lade were considered as 
affianced lovers, so far as their chances of a settlement in 
life could be viewed in advance ; but Lily being still 
very young and Walter in anticipation of his career at 
the University, their betrothal was to be regarded more 
in the light of a compact hereafter, to be completed or 
broken off according to circumstances, than as an 
irrevocable event. 

It is strange how very quick is the growth of love, 
when once the germ has taken root and put forth its 
first tender leaflets to the warmth of a summer sun ; 
two or three months back, Lily had really not felt the 
slightest preference in favour of Walter Harewood, but 
now her attachment began to grow with such rapid 
strides that she could scarce bear him to go out of her 
sight beyond an hour together ; and the prospect of his 
departure for Cambridge began to inflict tortures upon 
her heart. She even attempted to induce him to forego 
the advantages of a college education, and content him- 
self with the very excellent progress he had made under 



MOTHER LUDLAHl's CAVE. 177 

her uncle, but in this matter Walter himself could not 
decide, insomuch as it was his father's dearest wish that 
he should adopt the profession of medicine, the highroad 
to which was through the University alone, and in 
furtherance of which his only wealthy relative had 
promised, pecuniarily, to assist. 

Man, however, proposes, and God disposes. The father 
of Walter Harewood most unexpectedly fell a prey to 
his beloved profession, with scarce an hour's notice. He 
had been most assiduously attending a succession of 
fever cases, more as a lover of art than of necessity, for 
they occurred in the parish poor-house, where other pro- 
fessional attendance than his own was legitimately bound 
and paid for ; the infection was of a new and strange 
kind, baffling ordinary experience, and therefore deeply 
interesting to pathologists. Dr. Harewood took the 
infection, which quickly deprived him of all consciousness, 
and before any arrangement of his affairs could take 
place, or even his dear son could be recognised, the good 
and faithful disciple of mercy was himself a corpse. 

The shock to Walter was very very great, far greater 
indeed than that he subsequently received when it was 
found that, through the failure of some mercantile 
speculation, in which his father had rashly embarked, the 
good physician had died not only intestate, but some- 
what also in debt. 

This great misfortune left him no means of following 
any profession at all, except through the kindness of 

N 






178 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

the one rich but distant relative who had promised to 
pay the expenses of his University career. But mis- 
fortunes rarely come single, for, after an interval of time, 
vainly spent in a struggle with his own love of indepen- 
dence, it was the young man's still deeper misfortune to 
hear that his wealthy relative, acting under the advice of 
designing persons, had made a will devising his entire 
property to some charitable foundation — all except one 
hundred pounds, which was the extent of his own legacy, 
and that the old man had died suspiciously soon after 
that transaction. 

With these misfortunes on his head, Walter became a 
sadly changed young man, but in proportion as his 
fortunes lowered, and his elasticity of spirits yielded, so 
did the strength of Lily's affection increase; we are 
almost afraid to add that so deeply did the sympathies 
of our young heroine become excited, that she almost 
prayed that still further misfortunes might occur in order 
that the strength of her own love might develop itself. 
Not so with her reverend guardian, for parson though 
he was, the world had wrought upon him the usual 
experience of mankind, and taught him that poverty, 
though not indeed a crime in the abstract sense, was yet 
the gravest of all sins against love and matrimony. 
Walter Harewood was his favourite pupil and most 
esteemed young friend, one whom he trusted in implicitly 
as regards honour, honesty, and virtue ; but the sudden 
accumulation of misfortunes he had suffered had left 



MOTHER LTJDLAM's CAVE. 179 

him without a profession, and with scarce any means of 
adopting one of those semi-professional occupations 
which were just then beginning to step between the 
tradesman and the gentleman; but whilst the good 
parson was turning about in his mind the pros and cons 
of his pupil's future career, one other, and the crowning 
misfortune of all fell upon the devoted head of Walter 
Harewood. He had been to the house of his late parent, 
in Farnham, in order to collect together the few books 
and personalties which the kind consideration of his 
father's creditors had left to his disposal, when, whilst 
using a pair of tall library steps, his foot slipped and he 
fell heavily, breaking his leg and straining his back so 
as to entail a severe surgical operation, the result of 
which was lameness for life, after an interval of three 
months'' severe torture. 

The climax of Walter Harewood' s misfortunes was 
also the climax of poor Lily Lade's affection for her 
unhappy affianced, whom she now looked on as all her 
own by virtue of his poverty, his sufferings, and his 
totally ruined prospects ; a devotion which, on the part 
of young Harewood, was so deeply appreciated as to be 
almost deplored, for his own feelings, however warm and 
buoyant, were almost crushed under the weight of his 
many severe visitations. 

As for the parson, his unworldly mind prevented him 
from looking altogether disapprovingly on the beautiful 
strength of affection which his niece displayed, but he 



180 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

still felt all the difficulties of his trust without seeing 
the way to avoid yet greater future evil. He held con- 
sultation after consultation with his pupil, in order to 
suggest some line of conduct which might offer a hope 
of future prosperity; but after exhausting all their 
patience, the one uniform result for ever presented itself, 
and that only in the very untempting form of a scholastic 
establishment. After a time this plan was agreed on, 
and by the aid of the one hundred pounds'' legacy 
bequeathed by his distant relative, Mr. Walter Harewood 
issued the advertisements and notices which intimated 
that he would be happy to instruct a limited number of 
young gentlemen in the elements of a sound classical and 
commercial education, including mathematics both pure 
and mixed, &c, and it was then agreed that so soon as 
his pupils (in perspective) should amount to twelve in 
number, his marriage with Lily should take place; Lily 
being at that present time close upon her twenty-first 
birthday, and Walter* Harewood fully arrived at his 
twenty-third. 

CHAPTER VI. 

It is now time that our story should return to the 
fortunes of its most patrician character. 

Since the terrible day which had brought the fearful 
curse of blindness on that illustrious nobleman the Earl 
of Knuckledown, misfortunes had rained down upon his 



181 



devoted head thick and threefold. Of his two daughters, 
the one who married a duke died childless, and the 
second, after nine years of misery entailed through utter 
dissimilarity of tastes, and mutual personal dislike, com- 
mitted herself to such an extent as to elope with an 
Austrian prince, who no sooner obtained possession than 
he neglected her, and finally deserted her in a foreign 
land, where she ultimately fell a prey to absolute want. 

Of this nobleman'' s three sons there remains yet worse, 
if possible, to record, for the eldest, a weak and puny 
creature, lived only till five years of age, the second only 
till four, leaving the third sole heir to the immense 
family wealth — a youth of eighteen, the exact counterpart 
of his father both in person and in mind, only, if possible, 
a thought more insignificant, self-sufficient, and passionate 
of disposition. It was with Iris whole hopes concentrated 
on this last scion of the house of Knuckledown, that the 
Earl had ventured out of his native land on a visit to 
Paris, where the more refined arts of dancing and 
personal deportment were then, as now, carried out to 
their utmost perfection. Among other accomplishments 
that of fencing was greatly to be desired for the young 
nobleman, and to the " atelier " of an eminent professor, 
therefore, was the young gentleman consigned for two 
mortal hours every day, under the able tuition of 
Monsieur Adolphe de-la-tour Baroche, ci-divant Maitre 
(V amies to the second battalion of Chasseurs-a-pied. 

Persons who are in the habit of frequenting the rooms 



182 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

of Mons. Angelo in London, and wlio there become 
accustomed to the safe-looking foils which are, we 
believe, made with a sort of permanent button at the 
end, may perhaps feel a little surprised at being told 
that one century ago, and particularly in Paris, foils 
were neither more nor less than bona fide small-swords, 
or truly speaking u spits/' with little buttons at their 
extremities easily taken off or put on, for indeed so great 
was the skill of most gentlemen, in those days, that it 
was only very rarely that they even practised the art of 
fence with any blunt weapon. 

In order not to protract the reader's expectation, we 
will at once proceed to the end of this portion of our 
tale, and record that, in an unlucky moment, the heir of 
the house of Knuckledown, whilst engaged with his 
vigorous tutor, in the art of fence, was most unluckily, 
and quite accidentally, run through the lungs with a foil, 
from which the button had dropped only a moment before. 
His death was almost instantaneous, and fell so heavily 
upon the old Earl himself, that for many months his 
own life was in danger, and though he did ultimately 
recover his bodily health, his mind, preying on itself, 
became so unhinged that his medical advisers counselled 
rapid change of air and scene as the only means of its 
recovery from utter prostration. 

For several months the Earl wandered about from 
place to place, an object of pity rather than commisera- 
tion, till by degrees his thoughts wandered towards the 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAYE. 183 

one sole relative that fortune had left him in the wide, 
wide world. 

Lily Lade, the repudiated child of his discarded and 
disowned daughter, stood before his mind's eye, the 
one small bright spot between present misery and 
future utter darkness. He would seek her out, claim 
her from her guardians, whoever they might be, would 
make her rich, would cover her with jewels, would 
marry her to some man of high rank, would yet call 
her " daughter/'' " grandchild/' and listen to the voices, 
though he might never see the features, of one more 
generation having his own blood in its veins. The 
more he dwelt on this possibility, the more determined 
he became, and having once made up his mind, he lost 
no time in setting on foot all necessary inquiries where- 
by the habitation of the Honourable Miss Lade (as he 
persisted in calling Lily) was made known. 

Fully determined on obtaining possession of his 
grandchild, and never for one moment doubting her 
joyful consent to exchange her humble position for one 
of grandeur and ostentation, the Earl commanded 
his state-coach to be made ready, and relays of horses 
to be forwarded to every convenient post-town on the 
line of road to Earnham (the then nearest place of note 
to Aldershot) ; but before setting out on his journey, 
with a mixture of childish folly and silly pride, caused 
to be procured and packed, several changes of costly 
dresses, together with jewels and other finery, the sight 






184 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

of which was calculated, as he hoped, to carry delight 
and pleasant envy into the heart of a young maiden 
whose aspirations had probably never ascended beyond a 
fine muslin dress and a coral necklace. Armed with this 
" heavy ammunition " of vanity, we leave the Earl of 
Knuckledown to complete his arrangements, whilst, for 
the last time, we carry our reader back to the humble 
Parsonage House of the Rev. James Lade at Aldershot. 



CHAPTER VII. 

A beautiful summer's evening was about to close a 
day of entire and perfect happiness to the inmates of 
that happy home ; it was the evening before the mar- 
riage day of Lily Lade and Walter Harewood, and only 
a few months after Lily's own twenty-first birthday. 

Walter Harewood's pupils had now reached twelve in 
number. His school was established, his fortunes on 
the increase, although far from magnificent in their 
aspect; the happy party of three had just concluded their 
last meal, for it was then bright daylight at half-past 
eight o'clock. Walter and Lily were sitting together 
in that loving and confident familiarity which betokens 
perfect confidence, and our Eev. friend was calmly con- 
templating their enjoyment from his easy chair opposite 
them. A gentle knock at the door, responded to by 
an instantaneous "come in," produced the immediate 
entrance of a cherry-cheeked damsel, bearing a very 



185 



light but yet somewhat bulky package. " Please, Miss 
Lily, the milliner has sent this home at last, and 
wishes to know if she may help dress you to-mor- 
row morning, if she comes at eight o'clock." Where- 
upon up rose Lily, and after a good deal of whispering 
at the door, dismissed her handmaid with a message, 
supposed to be satisfactory. 

A little bantering took place between Walter and 
Lily, relative to the propriety of his seeing the wed- 
ding dress before it was put on, which little matter 
ended, as any one would suppose it might, by the dis- 
play of the article in question, which, after all, was 
ndeed but a very humble display, consisting of nothing 
but a pure white muslin dress, set off with white ribbons 
of the plainest and most inexpensive kind imaginable, 
such as the poorest milkmaid in the parish might have 
afforded, without ornament of any kind — white, pure, and 
spotless. 

Walter looked with approving eyes, and Lily listened 
with blushing face to his remarks upon the simplicity of 
his bride's attire, and it was whilst thus mutually happy 
and contented, that the attention of all three was 
suddenly arrested by the stoppage of a gorgeous state 
carriage, drawn by four smoking horses, and escorted 
by several liveried attendants, at the outer gate of the 
Parsonage House. 

Still more was our party astonished, when one of the 
liveried menials somewhat ostentatiously opened the gate, 



186 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

walked up the pathway, and demanded of the open- 
mouthed servant-maid if her master was at home. 

As a matter of course, the Eev. Mr. Lade himself 
questioned the man, and learned to his utter bewilder- 
ment, that his visitor was no less a personage than 
the Earl of Knuckledown himself. Almost before an 
invitation could be extended, the old nobleman, assisted 
by two servants, descended from the cumbrous vehicle, 
and made way towards the house. 

Time had indeed wrought fearfully upon the humbled 
nobleman, for his form had shrunk from five feet in 
height to little more than four feet six inches. His 
hair was white, thin, and straggling, tied behind in a 
very small bag, and his thin, hollow features, made 
ghastly by the palpable loss of sight, looked more like 
those of a shrivelled mummy than those of a living 
creature. Yet, with all this utter- prostration of physical 
power, there was that in his countenance which be- 
spoke the old nature still — pride, self-confidence and ex- 
treme vanity had set their seal too strongly ever to 
become effaced, and their sign was on him still ; for the 
old man, when guided to the parson' s vacant easy-chair, 
flung himself upon its seat as if more inclined to cavil 
at its homeliness than to feel thankful for the repose it 
gave him. 

After the first surprise of arrival had sobered down, 
and not until after the two liveried servants were ordered 
beyond earshot, did the Earl communicate the object of 



MOTHER LTJDLAM'S CAVE. 18 

his mission, concluding his somewhat imperious recital by 
commanding Lily to bid her friends farewell, and depart 
with him instantly, never minding her clothes or any 
other rubbish ! 

" Hold ! " exclaimed a stentorian voice, which no 
one then present recognised as that of the meek country 
parson, whose voice in truth it was, now, for the first 
time in his quiet and virtuous life, roused to absolute 
passion. 

" Hold ! Earl of Knuckledown — peer of the realm — 
grandfather of your innocent child — murderer of your 
own daughter — fiend in human shape! — all, each of 
these, and more, if that I were to insult the Majesty of 
Heaven by speaking it. Listen, and hear me. 

c ' Touch but my dear niece with your little finger, in 
the way of command, and that very instant I thrust 
you out of my doors. She is my child, not yours — my 
own brother's child by blood, my own dear child by 
love and adoption ; she was never yours ; you disowned 
her, repudiated her, would have left her to freeze, to 
starve, to die ; she is mine, not yours ; mine till to- 
morrow morning only, when she will become a happy 
wife in the possession of a deserving husband. Why do 
you come to disturb our felicity? why do you bring 
the dishonour of your presence upon our reputable 
home ? Go back, old man, go back. I speak but with 
the heart and in the name of my dead brother's child, 
now standing in the room, when I bid the destroyer 



J 88 LILY lade: a legend of 

of her parents to depart this house, lest evil be- 
tide—" 

Exhausted by the unwonted effort, and, for the only- 
time of his life, overcome by emotions beyond control, 
the Eev. gentleman sunk down in a chair almost power- 
less ; Lily, at the same moment, throwing herself into his 
arms and hiding her face in his breast. 

Before the Earl of Knuckledown could half recover 
from the astonishment into which he was thrown, Walter 
Harewood, now fully cognizant of his position, rose up 
calmly, and addressed him as follows — 

" My Lord — Earl — I, a humble schoolmaster of this 
parish, but destined, nevertheless, to become the husband 
of yonder fair maiden before this time to-morrow, with 
the full consent of her only recognised relative, and by 
virtue of her own promise, hereby acquaint you that I 
am cognizant of Miss Lilian Lade's whole history, and of 
the position she holds with regard to yourself. Were it 
not that to doubt her repudiation of your authority would 
be an insult, I would leave the choice to her verbal deci- 
sion ; but, as it is, I have only to join my request to that 
of her uncle, and call upon you to depart — peaceably — 
lest, as my Eeverend friend has observed, evil should 
betide." 

" And I, too/' spoke Lily, as, with the dignity of a 
queen, she uprose from her position, " and I too, Lilian 
Lade, the child of your own daughter and my dear 
uncle's brother ; I, too, happy in my obscurity, to be 



189 



rendered still more happy to-morrow, in the protection 
of a husband I shall be proud to own, do also bid you 
depart. As one whom Heaven has punished, I may not 
add my reproaches to those of your own conscience ; as 
one allied to me, though only far apart, in blood, I will 
not use the language of upbraiding, but, once for all, 
depart, leave us all to our humble contentment ; as for 
myself, my home is here, where it has ever been — I would 
not have even you suffer humiliation in it. Your fine 
carriage is at the door, let it bear you hence, arid for ever 
— I, the schoolmaster's destined wife, repudiate all claims 
to noble birth, or noble associations, and will keep the 
rank of life in which I have been reared." 

Amazed, astounded, the old Earl first listened to 
one, then to the other, and lastly to his grandchild, in 
silent, stupefied wonder. His eyes, albeit sightless, turned 
from the direction of one sound, to that of another, as 
though their orbs were yet powerful to discern the 
speakers' motions, and it was to the full a minute after 
Lily had resumed her station, before the old man found 
words to express himself. 

" You are my grandchild, and must obey my command. 
The law will help me if you refuse/'' 

"Not now, that I am twenty-one years of age, as 
was my poor mother, when she married" replied Lily. 

This last sentence appeared to strike the Earl like the 
shot from a gun. He sat down, or rather, he collapsed 
into a small heap of humanity, utterly broken by this 



190 LILY LADE: A LEGEND OF 

chance shot, and became so pitiable in bis extremity that 
both the gentlemen then present were compelled to 
tender him their assistance, and even Lily wept as she 
saw his humbled pride writhe and struggle with those 
pangs of remorse which seemed really to overpower him. 

A glass of wine served at once to moisten his lips and 
to bring forth a few words to the effect that he wished to 
speak with his servants. 

The servants instantly obeyed call, and received some 
whispered commands, which sent them quickly towards 
the carriage, still waiting at the outside gate. In a few 
moments they returned, bearing with them two boxes. 

Meanwhjle, a lamp was called for, and brought in, 
throwing its bright light upon the old nobleman's withered 
form, now greatly excited by a multiplicity of feelings, 
over which it appeared that some one, possibly that of 
hope, predominated. 

At a few words from their master, the men unpacked 
both boxes, notwithstanding some opposition on the part 
of Walter Harewood. 

From the boxes they took forth a magnificent dress 
of superb silken taffeta, made in the height of fashion, 
and trimmed as richly as the art of the sempstress and 
embroiderer could devise. Another dress followed, 
equally grand — and from a smaller box the leading 
menial displayed, in all the magnificence of a gold and 
morocco jewel case, a set of diamonds, pearls, and 
rubies, such as would have made a duchess envious. All 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAYE. 191 

these things, with others equally attractive, did the 
smirking lackeys display upon table, chair, and conch, as 
though the sight of them ought to bring every beholder 
into an attitude of worship. 

Side by side with the plain white muslin dress, ar- 
ranged for the morrow's wedding, did those dazzling 
jewels and those costly satins shine, but their brightness 
called forth no respondent admiration from the eyes either 
of Lily Lade, or her two protectors, who all looked on in 
wondering silence. 

u All these," said the Earl of Knuckledown, " and ten 
thousand times more, will I give my long lost grandchild, 
if she will but come and be the solace of my old age." 

"Too late, too late," replied the Rev. gentleman. "I 
know my niece sufficiently well to answer for her ; a few 
years back and the door of reconciliation was not entirely 
closed — it is now shut for ever. Christian minister that 
I am, and loving, as I do love, the sacredness of mercy 
aud forgiveness, the whole tenor of your conduct towards 
my niece and her parents has been such that no reflecting 
person could look upon your future guardianship in the 
light of a desirable change for a young lady, whose future 
career is already marked out in accordance with her 
education and with the sanction of her own heart. The 
law gives you no claim over her person ; you have 
severed all natural links, and will but expose yourself to 
universal obloquy by attempting to defend yourself. Go, 
therefore, in amity if you please, and in all Christian 



192 



LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 



forgiveness for the past ; but let those whom humility 
and contentment have made far happier than rank and 
station could effect, follow their own path likewise." 
Turning towards Lily and her betrothed, the Eev. 
gentleman once more spoke : " Betire, my children. As 
• host and master here I will do the honours of my 

domicile alone/'' 

With a somewhat ceremonious obeisance, Lily Lade 
took the arm of her lover, and with a look of pity for 
the old nobleman whose utter prostration was evident, 
she left the room in company with her future husband. 

The Earl of Knuckledown, stupefied into passive 
obedience, beckoned to his servants, who immediately 
upraised him by either arm, and all but carried him out 
of the house and into his carriage, when the Eev. James 
Lade, following in his Lordship's wake, obtained from one 
of the outriders the knowledge that his lordship had 
already bespoke apartments at the Bush Inn, Parnham. 
Satisfied on this point, the Eev. gentleman directed 
others of his Lordship's retinue to replace the dresses and 
jewels in their respective boxes, and himself saw them 
consigned to their original resting-place, in one of those 
receptacles belonging to the carriage; after which the 
equipage itself was driven away at a slow pace, and the 
repose of the Parsonage House was left unbroken for the 
rest of that eventful night. 



MOTHER LUDLAM'S CAYE. 193 

CHAPTER VIII., AND LAST. 

On the following morning, so early as ten o'clock, there 
was great commotion in the little straggling village of 
Aldershot, for it was known through all the country 
round that pretty Lily Lade, the rustic belle of the 
parish, was about to be married to the chosen of her 
heart, Walter Harewood, whose character was equally 
respected with that of his bride. White robed children 
were there, bearing baskets of flowers with which to 
strew the short pathway between the Parsonage House 
and the church, where it was understood that the 
ceremony of marriage would be conducted by a neigh- 
bouring clergyman, the Rev. James Lacle himself 
officiating as father to the lady. 

Shortly after the hour had struck, Lily and her two 
bridesmaids, each robed in virgin white, and bearing no 
other ornaments than befitted the modest quality of the 
bride herself, issued from the Parsonage House and 
entered the sacred edifice, where awaited the bridegroom 
and his chosen friends, decorously tricked out for the 
occasion. Every pew of the old church had its occupants, 
and a fair assemblage of honest, hearty, country faces, 
being those of more privileged friends, ranged around 
the immediate precincts of the altar. 

Pew, but very few of the assembled witnesses bore the 
stamp of rank ■ perhaps it might even be said that none 
there assembled were of station beyond that of well-to-do 

o 



194 LILY LADE : A LEGEND OF 

farmers, their wives and families — for in those days, 
though little more than one hundred years before our era, 
the clergy did not take rank with the gentry of the land 
as a matter of right, but only when they happened to be 
possessed of revenues which placed them on a monied 
level with their patrons. But upon the faces of all 
there assembled there sat a look of approving gladness, 
such as well compensated for the absence of a more 
refined presence. 

At a quarter before eleven, precisely, the marriage 
ceremony began, but scarcely was the first sentence 
delivered by the officiating clergyman, when a slight 
commotion at the door caused the turning of all heads, 
excepting those of the bride and bridegroom, who, with 
faces concealed in the cushion of the altar rails, seemed 
absorbed in their own feelings. Whilst the ceremony 
proceeded, there appeared, supported by two servants, 
the Earl of Knuckledown, who with his white head and 
tottering form, made his way slowly down the centre 
aisle, placid as a child, and to all appearance totally 
bereft of his former manner and bearing. By the time 
the happy pair were made one, and their fortunes united 
for better or worse, for richer or poorer, till God should 
part them for ever, the old nobleman had reached the 
altar group, and became as one of the other spectators, 
offering no interruption, nor in any other way deviating 
from the strict line of propriety. All that was observed 
of him was that in his hand he bore an ominous looking 



195 



folded roll of parchment, tied round with lawyer-like red 
tape, and having one large official looking seal after the 
manner of important legal documents. 

The ceremony ended, and those immediately concerned 
took their way towards the vestry room for the purpose 
of signing the certificate in all due form. 

It is uncertain whether or not the bride and bride- 
groom observed the presence of the aged nobleman ; but 
whether or not, it is certain that the Earl followed the 
party into the vestry, where, after the usual signatures 
had been affixed, he walked boldly to the table and 
claimed to add his name to those of the other witnesses, 
a request which none thought fit to oppose. 

With wonder in their looks, and some slight mis- 
givings, did the newly-uuited pair, and their reverend 
guardian, observe the old man affix his name to those of 
his predecessors; but all cause of apprehension was 
happily dead. His Lordship, by one of those singularly 
late touches of remorse, had buried all animosities in 
the grave of the past, and had no sooner completed his 
task, than he placed in the hands of Walter Hare wood 
that legal looking parchment which had excited so 
strange a feeling of curiosity. Brief were the words of 
the old nobleman, but suffinciet to render still more 
complete the happiness of all. For he bade the bride- 
groom and his bride " good speed," commending them 
to each other, and asking to be remembered in their 
prayers as one repentant and forgiven. With this, he 



196 LILY LADE. 

turned away, slowly, sorrowfully assisted by his servants 
into his carriage, which presently drove away, and was 
no more seen in the neighbourhood of Aldershot. 

When the Rev. James Lade, as the one most in 
authority, opened the parchment scroll, it was found 
to be a deed-gift of ten thousand pounds, and although 
at first sight repudiated, was, after some brief argument, 
accepted as a peace offering, such as Christian feeling 
and prudential wisdom could not reject. 

Thus ends the tradition of Lily Lade. 



POEMS, ETC, 



THE LAY OP THE LOST ENSIGN. 



Young Ensign " Dobbs " got up one day, 

At Aldershot Camp, in a very poor way, 

He'd joined but one month, it is proper to say, 

And had got his mess expenses to pay, 

Besides an account with Mr. Gray, 

For " billiards " — at which he could not play ! 

With sundry odd matters to tailors and hatters, 
His laundress — his servant — with others en suite, 
Not forgetting his et Artist" for cartes-de-visite ; 

In short he'd a dozen long bills to pay, 

Amounting perhaps to what shall we say ? 

Some fifty pounds won't be out of the way ; 

And all with five-shillings-and-sixpence-a-day ! 

He jump'd out. of bed, with a pain in his head, 
And thus to his servant bemusingly said; 



198 THE LAY OF THE LOST ENSIGN. 

"Come tell me my man — and tell me true, 
What can an Officer hope to do, 
When lie's been so rash, as to spend all his cash 
When his creditors threaten to settle his hash, 
And his credit's all gone to immortal smash ! " 

ii. 
Now Private Small, whom he chose to call 
His valet de place, was a man so tall, 
He could leap with ease o'er a six-foot wall, 
And therefore because of his extra size, 
Believed himself to be extra wise : 
So he answered, " Were I in a fix like you, 
I know exactly what I should do ; 
I'd borrow some cash of that excellent Jew 
Who lends it without any other secu- 
Eity than an Officer's I U, 
And who lives in M * * * x street, Number £." 

in. 

" Go call me a cab,'"' quoth Dobbs, with a sigh ; 
" I don't like these things, but suppose I must try ; 
I'll haste to London by quickest express, 
And return in good time to prepare me for mess." 
So saying, he went. * * 

Behold him there, 
He reaches a house near Hanover Square, 
He knocks, at the door, he mounts the stair, 
He enters a room, he takes a chair, 



THE LAY OP THE LOST ENSIGX. 199 

While a tallow-faced Jew with crinkley hair, 
Politely requests him his wants to declare. 



" Vat vifty ! no more ? Pless your soul, my tear friend, 

Yy it ain't vorth de trouble to porrow or lend ! 

Say vun underd — or two — ve shall charge you de same, 

De expenshe vosh no more — but vun trifle to name : 

Yet stay ! you vant courage ! so pleas take som vine, 

You'll find it, pelieve me, unkommonly fine ! 

Here ish vite — here ish red/' — (here his shoulders he 

shrugged) 
"Ye imports it ourselvs, and ve vorrints it " (drugg'd !). 

IV. 

Behold poor Dobbs — he swallows some wine 
Which he does not think " uncommonly fine/' 
But drinks notwithstanding, in hope to progress 
With his mission in time to return to mess ; 
He drinks and grows poorly — he drinks and grows 

worse, 
Still hoping in haste to replenish his purse 
He drinks and grows stupid — he takes pen in hand 
And signs a small paper at Smouchy's command ; 
He pockets one note (tis for fifty, — no more — 
Though his I U stands for exactly five-score), 
He gets to his cab, which still waits at the door, 
And starts for the railway exactly at four, 



200 THE LAY OF THE LOST ENSIGN. 

He readies the Station — He reaches the Camp, 
Unconscious of having been " done " by a scamp, 
Till, next day, — to his grief and his horror he found, 
He was charged for bad wine — bad cigars — £30 ! 

v. 

Three months glide by quickly, when sure as the day, 
There comes a slim bill, with " I promise to pay ;" 
Which promise poor Dobbs is unable to keep, 
Por reasons which rob him of many nights' sleep ; 
" Yot harm," quoth the Jew, " ve can easy renew, 
De expenshe vos ten poun', to vich ve add two, 
For de trouble of callm' ven next it is due." 

VI, 

Three months pass on, — and three to that, 

The slim little bill begins to wax fat : 

Six months — then twelve — the bill grows fatter — 

Two hundred pounds ! but then " What matter ? >} 

The Jew so polite is, it seems that he quite is 

A man to whom doing good acts a delight is — 

Till one sad day, when he comes to say, 

Poor Dobbs must perform his " Promise to pay," 

Without the slightest demur or stay, 

In short before he will go away, 

Or 



THE LAY OF THE LOST ENSIGN. 20] 

Concerning what next poor Dobbs befel, 

The muse is extremely reluctant to tell ; 

But the matter must out — so thus it fell : 

He had not the cash, and the thought was so sad. 

It drove him quite frantic,, in short, raving mad : 

He did such queer things that his visitor swore 

That "by Moses" and "Aaron" he'd "stand it" no 

more : 
He pull'd out his beautiful hair by the roots ; 
He emptied the water-jug into his boots ; 
He rush'd to a shelf — whence a bottle he took — 
Turned full on the Usurer one horrid look 
Then — ere one could guess his terrific design — 
He had poisoned himself ! — with the jew's own 
pout- wine ! ! [ . 



THE "CABTE-DE-YISITE:" A EOMANCE OE 
ALDEKSHOT. 

Young Neddy Fitzmaul, of the Aldershot Blues, 

Stood four- feet-six in his birthday shoes ; 

He readily would — have much rather stood, 

Some five-feet-ten if he possibly could. 

But the fates were against it, so Neddy was fain, 

At four feet six to sigh and remain, 

Though not without striving to lessen his pain 

By sundry manoeuvres all equally vain. 

Brandy he took — beat up with raw eggs, 

In hopes that his stature might swell ; 
But it nourished his nose instead of his legs, 

And made him extremely unwell. 
A hat he bought very tall in the crown, 

Adding nearly one foot to his height — 
But the little boys came and flattened it down, 

A measure by no means polite. 
A pair of new boots he then sought to get made, 
By an artiste well known in the boot-making trade, •, 
With soles very thick and with heels very high, 
Which raised him some three inches nearer the sky. 
But the "dodge"scarce succeeded, 
So well as was needed ; 



THE " CARTE-DE-VISITE." 203 

His walk being very much thereby impeded : 
In short 'twas no "walk" so to call, but a "toddle/" 
Which ended one morning in cracking his noddle. 
Despairing at last, he grew sick of his life, 

And determined on ending its trouble, 
When somebody whispered, " Go get you a wife ; 
A single man's portion is sorrow and strife ; 

You'll be thought of much more when you're double" 
Now this, to tell truth of young Neddy Pitzmaul, 
Was a notion he long had debated, 
But how to succeed was the question of all, 
Which to solve was a trouble in no measure small. 
Yet solve it he did in a way one may call 
Ingenious, if strictly not o-ri-gi-nal, 

As briefly below shall be stated. 
" I'll put an advertisement in," quoth our Ned, 

" There are papers in plenty — diurnal, 
With weeklies as well — all extensively read, 

Such as Cassell's, the Herald, and Journal. 
I'll top my advertisement, ( Wanted a Wife/ 
And answers will follow, I'll wager my life !" 
He did it, and answers came surely, galore, 
From "Jessie" and "Bessie" and ninety-nine more, 
But strangely enough each objected to treat, 
Till he sent, for her album, his "carte-de-visite." 
So poor Neddy was fain, while his innocent brain, 
With joy was nigh turned topsy-turvy, 
Go stand for his "carte" with a love-yearning heart, 



204 THE 

To that famous photographer " Herve. - " 

Now, please let me whisper a secret — 'tis this, 

When a well-bred photographer sees aught amiss, 

He can modify, somewhat — the short can make tall; | 

The little make large — the large can make small, i 

By a slight piece of "dodgery" not known to all, 

Yet clearly within his legitimate call, 

And thus did it happen with Neddy Fitzmaul. 

For the cunning photographer — bidding him stand 

As gracefully as he was able, 
Placed closely, but gingerly, at his right hand, 

A child's parlour chair and low table. 
The contrast served well — his portrait, when done, 

Was correct, as no one can deny; 
And yet for all that the best part of the fun, 

Was, it made him look six feet high. 
Away with twelve copies (ten shillings they cost), 

He rushed in a phrenzied delight, 
Despatching them off by that evening's post, 
To the twelve correspondents who pleased him the most, 

Then went to his bed for the night. 

One day elapsed — one tedious day — when lo ! the post- 
man's knock ! 

Twelve letters for Fitzmaul was cried, producing quite a 
shock ; 

Young Neddy opened them — Oh, bliss ! to find his love 
requited 



A ROMANCE OF ALDERSHOT. 205 

By just eleven out of twelve (that twelfth he straightway 

slighted) ; 
Each one of the eleven made a separate assignation 
To meet him by the self-same hour at Tongham railway 

station. 
He went, they came, they saw enough — those pretty 

damsels all; 
But not one single girl of them would marry one so 

small ! 
Each took a ticket by return and whirFd to town away, 
Leaving poor Eitz. to grieve and mourn his wretched 

luck that day. 
The train swept on, — Eitzmaul had turned to seek his 

lonely home, 
Erom which he vowed he never more would wander forth 

to roam, 
"When to his side a fairy form of dazzling beauty crept, 
Whose faultless features, blushingly, alternate smil'd or 

wept — 
il You sent me this," she slily said, discovering his "carte," 
Then fondly placed it back again, to rest upon her heart — 
' ' 1 read your declaration, but replied not to its call, 
Eor fear — to tell the downright truth — for fear you 

were too tall — 
I wish'd to look before I leapt." 
" Sweet angel !" Neddy cried, 
" You're much the prettiest girl I've met — say, will you 

be my bride ? " 



206 THE " CAETE-DE-VISITE." 

Of course she blush'd, of course she bent her lovely eye- 
lids down, 
Then whispered "yes" becomingly, without' the slightest 
frown. 
So Neddy Fitzmaul of the "Aldershot blues/' 
When he walked from the Tongham station, 
Stood flve-feet-ten — if not in his shoes — 

At least in his own estimation. 
No happier couple e'er travelled through life, 
Or found this world's pleasure more sweet, 
Than Neddy Fitzmaul and his beautiful wife, — 
Aud all through a carte-de-visite. 



II 



THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL* 

What sound is that which zephyr brings 

Prom yonder low-browed hill ? 
That sweeps along on fluttering wings, 

Or tinkles like a rill ! 
Now " booming " on the startled ear 

With note of thrilling tone : 
Now like an echo sweet and clear, 

That murmurs and is gone ! 
It is the bell — the Russian bell — the bell whose iron 

tongue, 
Hath tolled full many a hero's knell — hath many a re- 
quiem sung ; 
Whose voice hath mingled with the breeze that swept the 

Black Sea wave. 
From Azoff to Sevastopol o'er many a true man's grave. 
The bell that once, in joyous strain, 

From pinnacle or tower, 
Proclaimed a Czar's imperial reign, 

A tyrant's boastful power. 
The bell that never more shall ring 

Where listening serfs abide, 

* For the information of those who do not live in or near 
Aldersbot, be it noted that the bell upon which are struck 
the hours of day and night in the Camp, was brought 
from Sevastopol, and is supposed to have been one belonging 
to a convent. 



208 THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL. 

Or crouching helots shivering sing 

The hymn of Tartar pride ; 
Tor England's blood hath ransomed now, 

And British valour won, 
That trophy from a barbarous foe, 
Whose power it trampled on ; 
Whose flag it trailed along the mire, 
Through seas of blood, through flames of fire, 
Where tears and groans, commingling, sent 
Their incense to Heaven's firmament, 
In witness of the boastful deed 
Which caused all honest hearts to bleed, 
That monarchs in their pride of will 
Should make a sport of human ill ; 
And proud ambition vault so high, 
That — failing Heaven — it falls to die. 
That bell ! — its voice all silent now to speak of pomp or 

power, 
Time's messenger alone behold ! — to note each passing 

hour, 
Meet office for a captured slave, to warn of life's decay, 
How pride may fall — how pomp may fade — how power 
may pass away ! 
It hath a cadence in its chime, 

Like some funereal knell; 
That loud-ton gued messenger of time, 
That solemn Russian bell. 



THE BELL OE SEVASTOPOL. 209 

Perchance it was this self same bell whose deep and 

sonorous boom, 
Aroused the men of Inkermann through morning's misty 

gloom,* 
That warned the sentinel's quick ear, and bade him mark 

its note, 
As stealthily the foe came down Tchernaya's winding 
route, 
Which ushered in that awful day 
Of weary strife and bloody fray, 
When Newman, Greville, Townsend fell 
Like men who did their duty well. 
When Strangways, Cathcart, rashly brave, 
Each sought and found a soldier's grave. 
When Barker, Butler, Goldie, Wynn, 
In honour's brotherhood akin, 
Died nobly for their country's cause 
And won in death the world's applause ! 
That bell ! that bell ! whose iron tongue 
So many a dirge hath fitly sung, 
Oh ! could it but in language speak 

The tale of days gone by, 
How many a bursting heart might break, 
How many a bosom sigh, 

* Soon after midnight in the dark hours which preceded 
the battle of Inkermann, the booming sound of one single bell 
was heard by the outposts of the Allied Army, and caused 
some speculation as to what it meant. 

P 



210 THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL. 

O'er friends and loved ones left to bleed, untended where 

they fell, 
Who else had lived to hear again that solemn Russian bell. 



Away with grief ! Let sterner passions rise, 
Behold ! earth's lightning flashing through the skies, 
Whilst mimic thnnder — deadly as Heaven's own — 
Pours forth in volleys from the Mamelon. 
Redan, and Malakoff, with deadly aim 
Send iron messengers from mouths of flame. 

The sea, too, hurls its vengeance gainst the shore, 

Whose bulwarks frown its ruffled bosom o'er, 

Earth, air, and water trembling with the roar. 
Britannia's sons with Gallia leagued in one, 
Sardinia and the Turk- — led bravely on ; 
United press their legions on the foe, 
Resolved to strike one overwhelming blow. 
Sevastopol ! that maiden of the sea 
(Her white robe stained with blood of liberty) 
Stands forth the mark ! by justice doomed to fall 
Unmourned, unpitied, unbeloved by all ! 

What need of poet's feeble strain to tell how England 
fought ! 

How brave Sardinia's green-clad sons the van of danger 
sought ! 

How Gallia's host dashed ruthlessly, nor deigned its 
head to quail 

Beneath a storm of hissing shot — of pelting iron hail ! 






THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL. 211 

How, turned aside, yet conquered not, each dared again 

the foe, 
Nor owned repulse, nor feared reproach, but answered 

blow with blow. 
Till death-crowned valour awed itself, whilst Heaven 

looked weeping o'er, 
And pride's endurance sought a lull for strength to strike 

once more. 
What call for poet's humble lay to speak the crowning 

deed? 
How foiled ambition stayed its flight, and curbed its 

erring speed ! 
How Menschikoff, the parasite, bent low his supple 

knee,* 
How Nicholas, the bold and bad, succumbed to fate's 

decree. 
How martyred Raglan fought and died, nor less on 

glory's bed 
That fever racked his manly form and bowed his noble 

head ! 
That tale is writ on history's page by Time's almighty 

pen, 
Unblotted by one tear of shame before the eyes of men. 

* Menschikoff was officially reported to have died of fever, 
but Russian fevers are proverbially difficult to understand. 
Very many of the Russian peasantry believe, even to the 
present day, that Menschikoff is not dead at all, but has 
hidden his sins within the walls of a monastery. — Vide Wood's 
' History of the Crimean War." 






212 THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL. 

The " flaunting flag " of victory, the drum's trium- 
phant roll, 
Proclaim how justice did its work on dead Sevas- 
topol ! 
Such whispered chronicles as these 

Of man's unbridled will, 
Methinks come travelling on the breeze 
Prom yonder low- crowned hill, 

Where caged and guarded, like a bird, the captured tell- 
tale swings, 

Now yielding music to the ear, now flapping loud its 
wings. 

That bell ! that solitary bell ! 
Must bitter tidings ever tell : 
No marriage rite may claim its voice, 
No joy-note be its happy choice, 

No peal of welcome ever ring the listener's hope to 
cheer, 

But one dull round of duty fill with each succeeding 
year.*" 

How sorrowful, how sad a fate, 
Was ever bell thus desolate ! 
Nor wonder they who note its sound 
On hill, or dale, or marshy ground. 

* We believe that the bell is never struck but for the 
purpose of noting the lapse of time; certainly it is never 
rung upon any joyful occasion, nor even for the hour of 
prayer. Its vocation is solely that of an hour-bell. 



THE BELL OF SEVASTOPOL. 213 

It hath a cadence in its chime, 

Like some funereal knell ; 
That loucl-tongued messenger of time — 

That solemn Russian bell ! 



THOUGHTS 

Suggested by the Visit of a Russian Potentate to 
Aldershot Camp, November %nd, 1864. 

Why sounds the clarion ? and why beats the drum ? 

This peaceful morn, 

Of wintry dawn, 
Hath tidings of some mighty victory come ? 
That martial ardour lights each soldier's eye, 

And pride of country fills 

Each heart that thrills 
Beneath the medal of Crimea's die ! 

No fight victorious doth these sounds denote, 

But yet a triumph still 

Of might and will, 
Dear to the stalwart men of Aldershot. 
Por one there comes — a man of mighty name — 

Those serried ranks to meet, 

To honour, and to greet, 
To hail — as kindred spirits dear to fame : 

Whose glance will scan them with a soldier's eye 
That hath seen battles, and whose breath of praise 

Will be more worth, to men of chivalry, 

Than thrice the shout which panderers can raise. 



EUSSIAN POTENTATE AT ALDEESHOT. 215 

Behold him here ! That chief of northern clime, 
See how he reins his charger o'er the plain ; 

His keen eye hath a light well nigh sublime, 
"Which, like his sword blade, never falls in vain. 

His glance surveys — it marks each several man, 

Takes note of all that claims a soldier's meed ; 
The head erect, the chest of ample span, 

The martial bearing (pledge of strength and speed) • 
The dauntless brow, with freedom's stamp of pride 

That quails not 'neath the aspect of command, 
Which — save in Britain's sons — the world beside 

Can show not, in the breadth of all its land. 

Tall and erect, in simple habit clad, 

With martial cloak alone 

O'er his broad shoulders thrown, 
He looks around him — haply with a sad 

But solemn eye — 

Wherefore ! and why ? 
Because [and let no false, ideal shame 
Obscure the light of an illustrious name) — 

Those self same men, and he, had met before * 
As foes — not friends — on a far distant shore, 

* As a matter of course this expression must be taken in a 
figurative sense. It is not quite certain that the famous 
Russian engineer was actually in Sevastopol at the time of 
its evacuation, although there is a strong suspicion of his 
having been there very shortly before. 






216 EUSSIAN POTENTATE AT ALDEESHOT. 

His force 'gainst theies had matched — but matched in 

vain, 
His skill had met a skill of deepee strain. 
Those veteea.n eanks, whose manly breasts display 

The badge of conquest, valour's proudest dole, 
Are those he met — one ne'er forgotten day 

When Britain's flag waved o'er SEVASTOPOL ! 

'Tis done, and past. Let time his votaries send, 
Man's vanquished foe should ever be his friend. 
Be welcome all to fair Britannia's isle 
Who come, unarmed, to meet her willing smile. 
England is rich in fame — with wealth to spare, 

Nor grudgingly bestows on honoured men ; 
Proud in herself — her pride she deigns to share, 

And thus a weeath awards to TODLEBEN. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF JANE C^SAE. 

January 22nd, 1865. 

" Heb, end was peace."" She tarried not 

Through all life's sorrowing day, 
Nor turned from out her onward path 

To wander by the way. 
She bore her cross without one sigh, 

Nor shed one useless tear ; 
But calmly smiled amidst her pain, 

In hopes that Heaven was near. 

A Christian pure, a loving child, 

A friend to all who knew ! 
What sorrow may bespeak the worth 

Of one so good and true ? 
What vain regret shall mourn her loss 

In parent, kindred, friend, 
Whose love is with her Saviour now 

'Midst joys that ne'er may end. 

'Twere surely best for soul like hers 

To climb the starry sky, 
Without one taint of earthly sin 

To blot its purity ; 



218 LINES ON THE DEATH OF JANE C^SAR. 

Than in this world to tarry long 

Amidst temptation's wiles, 
And barter Heaven's eternal love 

Por earth's deceitful smiles. 

Be therefore hushed the struggling moan 

Which from your breasts would rise, 
And check within its crystal home 

The fountain of your eyes. 
.Be sure God's wisdom falters not 

In claiming for his rest, 
But ever chooses for himself 

The purest and the best. 

" Her end was peace" — let yours be so, 

And when that end shall come, 
How great your joy to find a place 

In that eternal home ; 
Where child and parent meet again, 

And meet to part no more : 
Partakers of a Saviour's joy, 

And Heaven's all-bounteous store. 



MONODY 

On the death of Catherine Anne White, September 4, 1864. 

In virgin beauty, like a star, 

Her light hath passed away, 
No more the pilgrim-path of life 

To gladden with its ray; 
No more some watcher's heart to thrill 

That worshipped by its gleam, 
As, silently and smlessly, 

It shone with placid beam. 

Upon the threshold of life's joys 

She stood — yet entered not ; 
Her dreams of youth all unfulfilled, 

Her half-born hopes forgot, 
The sweets of life untasted, all 

Save those of youth's brief hour. 
(The rose bud's joy, which hopes, ere long, 

To bloom a glorious flower.) 

Her well-loved home is desolate, 

Her kindred weep in vain, 
Her place is vacant by their hearth, 

Nor may be filled again ; 
And yet she is not dead to all, 

For they, so pure, who die 
Have living virtues, which embalm 

Their fadeless memory ; 



220 MONODY. 

Which, like some sweet perfume distilled, 

Yet speak of beauty gone, 
Of crumbling leaves now turned to dust, 

That once a floweret shone. 
" She is not dead, but sleepeth," thus 

Doth holy wisdom tell ; 
Her trust was in her Saviour's love, 

And lo ! she sleepeth well ! 

The star of her young life hath set 

To every mortal eye, 
Yet shines with ten-fold loveliness 

In some far distant sky, 
Where light is quenchless as Heaven's love, 

Immortal as Heaven's throne, 
A thing too bright for human eyes, < 

Or human hearts to own. 

Be ours to think on, from afar, 

The glories of that home, 
Where every soul may shine a star, 

'Neath God's celestial dome. 
Be ours, with inward peace, to look 

On death's o'ershadowing day, 
To bless the hand which giveth all, 

Which taketh all away. 



n 



THE LADIES. 

God bless their pretty little hearts — I love to see them 

smile, 
They look so very innocent, so very free from guile ; 
I love to see them pout — and toss their head, as some 

can do, 
It sets off rosy lips so well, and glistening ringlets too ; 
I love to hear them scold— a bit — but not too loud or long, 
It proves their lungs are really good, and shows a taste 

for song ; 
I almost love to see them weep — it makes their eyes so 

bright 
With diamond-dropping sympathy, or tender pity's light. 

I love to hear them whisper " Yes " in fitting time and 

place ; 
I love to hear them answer "No/' if spoken with a grace ; 
I love to see them " walking out " in fashion's fullest 

pride, 
I love to see them robed in white — as may befit a bride; 
But most of all I love to see them clothed in modest form, 
The pride of some domestic hearth, where love is pure 

and warm, 
'Tis there — at home — they brightest shine, in queen-like 

state — alone ; 
Their children's love — a diadem ; their husband's heart 

— a throne. 



THE MISEE-A SATIRE. 

After (and a very long way after) Juvenal, 

" Quaerenda pecunia primum est 
Virtus post nummos." Horace. 

" Avant tout, l'argent, et apres 

L'argent tout " Piron. 

" Save a thief from the gallows 
And he will — bury you decently." 

(Old English proverb, slightly improved.) 

Where London's countless steeples proudly rise, 
Like angel fingers, pointing to the skies ; 
Where Commerce sits npon her bales enthroned, 
A goodlier monarch than the world e'er owned ; 
Where pomp, and power, and wisdom, wit, and pride, 
With crime and poverty, stand side by side ; 
Where ignorance, with husky voice, aloud 
Proclaims his folly to the gaping crowd, 
A miser once — a man of strange renown — 
xibided, 'midst the jeers of half the town, 
Hoarding his wealth in piles of bond and deed, 
The fruits of usury at blackest need ; 
Holding within his grip of iron hate 
The lands of many a lord that ruled the state. 

His garb was of the meanest man could wear, 
His food was of the scantiest man could bear, 



THE MISER A SATIRE. 223 

His wants were of the fewest Heaven could yield, 

And even such he stinted or concealed, 

Till nigh he went that problem strange to prove 

Of " how a man may live on hate or love/' 

Dining on " naught/'' within his own house-door, 

Then giving all thafs left to feed the poor. 

Aged was he, and wrinkled at the brow, 

With hair as white as is the driven snow, 

And eyes of fire, which, sparkling as they shone, 

Forbade the thought that intellect had flown, 

As many found, who, to their sorrowing cost 

Had sought to prove which could overreach the most ; 

Nor kith nor kin he owned, no friend he knew \ 

Save one — a thief ! — from justice snatched, and who, > 

Though false to all the world, to hum was true. ) 

Strange men strange fancies have ; some have been shown 

To love another's child, and hate their own, 

Of such was he, that miser, stern and cold 

To all the world from whom he held his gold, 

But to that thief he bore a father's love, 

Was careful, tender, gentle as a dove, 

He fed him, feasted him, and clothed him well, 

Pressed money on his palm, as gossips tell, 

Bade him be merry whilst it held in store, 

And when 'twere gone, to hasten back for more. 

The gaping world wherein he chanced to dwell, 
Look'd on in wonder more than tongue can tell, 
It wonder' d why the thief no longer stole — 
That thief to as now past poverty's control ; 
It wonder' d that the miser still lived on — 
That thief was there to guard him like a son ; 



224 THE MISER A SATIRE. 

It wondered that the old man, day by day, 
Grew better clad and kindlier in his way, 
It guess' d not that the thief his will had spared, 
By grateful love his better thoughts ensnared, 
Till, one by one, each vice of miser kind 
Departed from the old man's brightening mind ; 
His friend and he grew generous of their store, 
Feasted the rich, nor yet denied the poor, 
Lived in esteem with all, in wealth and pride, 
Till one sad day, wherein — the old man died ! 

They buried him in all the pomp of state, 
With countless mourners to bewail his fate, 
They came in shoals to hear the miser's will, 
And bade the very whispering winds be still. 
But horror sat on each expectant face 
When lo ! — 'twas told he left no single trace 
Of wealth behind him, scarce enough, though \ all, 
To pay th' expenses of his funeral ! 

The thief went back to his first trade again, 

A wiser thief — but in a sadder strain. 

He stole, and stole, and hoarded all he stole, 

Grudging his own poor wants, a poorer dole, 

Till — counting up the wealth his theft had brought 

He found it well sufficient for his thought : 

He raised a marble tomb — now, mark the end, 

In memory of his one and only friend, 

Then, with his relic of ill-gotten pelf, 

Bought two poor yards of rope, and hang'd himself. 



Printed by Aimiuu E. Lccy, Farnhaua and Aldershot. 



JUL -1 I9/.3 



